The Woman
by Adamantwrites
Summary: Trapper longs to know the identity of a beautiful and mysterious patient; he has his own personal reasons as well as professional. All recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. All original characters and plots are the property of the author. No copyright infringement is intended.
1. Chapter 1

The Woman

Part 1

The lights were dimmed in the corridors as they always were at night in San Francisco Memorial Hospital and even though he was going to see a patient whom Dr. Roush had described as unusual, Dr. John McIntyre felt a sense of calm as he strolled down the halls in his white coat; he decided he may as well look the part of a doctor to the new patient so he had shrugged on a clean lab coat, pinned on his badge and even hung a stethoscope about his neck. Besides he might need it.

As young intern, Trapper John had never minded the night shift, had even volunteered upon occasion because the whole hospital had a sense of calm but tonight he had been sleeping when the phone rang. He had turned off his cell phone as he wasn't on-call but even on, it rarely woke him no matter how high he turned the volume. There was just something about the jangling of an ordinary phone that jarred a person familiar with the association of bad news with late-night calls that woke a person from a deep sleep—something his cell phone never did so he kept his landline.

Without turning on the light, Trapper fumbled for the phone, hit the on button, and put it to his ear.

"Hello."

"John, it's me, Brooks Roush from Emergency? I need some advice on a female."

"What time is it?"

"Uh…2:16."

Trapper sighed and threw an arm over his forehead as he lay back, his head sinking into his pillow again. "Ask Grace Meadows; she's on duty. She knows how women think. God knows I don't."

"No, John, it's about a patient. I don't need advice about my love life. Well, actually I do but that's another matter."

Trapper smiled. Having gone through a divorce himself seven years earlier, he sympathized but now wasn't the time. "Can't it wait until morning?"

"Well, hear me out first."

"Okay. Talk."

"A woman was brought into emergency. She has no ID, no purse, says she doesn't know her name, where she lives—any of that—very confused. She was highly excitable and it was all the medics could do just to start an IV—said they had to strap her down. I had her blood checked for drugs—came back clean so I gave her IV valium and she tried to fight us on it—said she didn't want to be drugged. All she wants is to leave but she doesn't seem to know where she'd go if she did leave—not that I'm even close to discharging her."

"So why call me? Call the police—it's not my purview."

"The police arrived seconds after she did—they tried to question her but she was…like I said, confused. Uncooperative. Looks like someone might have slapped her around and according to a police report from another driver who saw what happened, she was pushed from a moving car—or she jumped out herself."

"Jumped out? Of a moving car?" Trapper sat up.

"Yeah. The police couldn't get anything out of her. They can't send out for fingerprints because she's not a suspect in any crime—yet. They said that if she can't remember who she is after 48 hours, we can have a fingerprint search conducted and hope there's a match on file. They think it might be a domestic dispute and if that's it, she'll have to press charges."

He sighed deeply; he hated drama. "Take a CAT scan, send it to neurology and let me sleep."

"I did that already and here's why I called you. She has a concussion and her BP is high. It's a slight concussion but that's not what's so worrisome-she needs exploratory surgery; she might have a lacerated liver or something going on with her spleen that doesn't show on an ultrasound-something's going on because when I palpated, she had pain. I hate to do an exploratory, even with a laparoscope, if I don't have to. I don't want to do too much if it's not necessary and then there's the concussion and the high BP…"

"How high?"

"Last look, 170 over 95."

Trapper made an appreciative whistle.

"Yeah, high. You know, she really is a nice-looking woman. You can tell that even though the left side of her face is a mess—bruised, and she also has a sprained right wrist. She must have put out her hand to stop her fall. Anyway, we found—well, when the nurses dressed her in a gown, they found a flash drive hidden in her bra."

Trapper sat up, grinning. "What? In her bra?"

"Yeah. She had a pretty good impression of it too. I asked her about it but she seemed not to know what I was talking about."

"Did you hand it over to the police?"

"They were gone by then so the nurse put it with her clothes. But she kept asking where she was, how she came to be injured and such. She kept trying to get off the gurney and saying she wanted to leave. We finally had to strap her down like the paramedics had. I wanted to give her a sedative but with the concussion…"

"What do you want me to do? Trust me—I don't handle women any better than the next man. Matbe even worse."

Roush laughed. "Just come out and see what information you can get from her? Use that Irish gift of blarney. She says she doesn't know of any allergies, any medicines she's taking—nothing. We don't have anything to go on. Like I said, I ordered an IV valium before I knew she had a concussion and then had to watch her for interactions but she seemed to tolerate it."

Trapper sighed. He was weary from having performed a six-hour surgical procedure that afternoon. It always amazed him that no matter how long a surgery took, he was alert to the end, but as soon as his part was over, he crashed more quickly than he used to. It often took all his energy just to buckle on his watch. He was getting too old, he considered.

"C'mon, John. You have a good bedside manner. You might be able to get her to talk to you and see if she's lying about not remembering anything. It might be she's afraid to go home but…well, why would she want to leave then? And I forgot to mention—she has some very expensive jewelry. I had the nurse write up a receipt before we took it off and had her stow it securely. No wedding band though."

"Look, we have psychiatrists on staff—even a few psychologists. Ask one of them to talk to her. They can decide if her amnesia is real."

"You know how damn easy they are to fool. Hell, they buy everything a patient says. But I also need permission to operate and she can't give it because, one—she doesn't know who the hell she is and two, she's confused. And since she has a concussion and high BP, anesthesia is risky. As chief of surgery, if you tell us to go ahead and operate, well, then we can. It needs to be an administrative decision."

"Oh, so you throw me under the bus. This is the last thing I need-but all right. Give me about an hour and I'll be there. What room?"

"354. I admitted her as _The Woman_."

"The woman?"

"Well, I didn't want to call her 'Jane Doe'. That makes her sound like an unidentified corpse. And there's no doubt she's a woman—like I said, quite the beauty even with the contusions and road rash. "

So Trapper strolled down the hall of the 3rd floor of the hospital. He stopped at the nurses' station and the ones on duty looked up from their laptops and he nodded to them.

"I need the record of the patient in 354—the female patient."

"Oh, the woman. She just came up from emergency about an two housr ago," one nurse said as she rolled back the door to the records cabinet. She looked for a few seconds and then pulled out the thin file and handed it to him. "Dr. Roush admitted her."

"Who's the hospitalist?" Trapper asked as he pulled out his glasses to peruse the sheets of paper before him. He couldn't help but think that when he was an intern, patients' charts used to be so much easier to access when they were attached to the end of a patient's bed but now, due to privacy issues, everything had changed. He considered that at least he didn't have to sit at a computer-it seemed the nurses were always on the computers inputting records—to read about the unknown woman.

"Looks like it'll be Dr. Farragut."

"Well, I'm going to look in on… _the Woman_."

Trapper found her room a few doors down and pushing open the half-closed door, he quietly walked in. Even in the dim light he could discern the woman's swollen lip and bruised left cheek; a right handed person had struck her. Her right arm was in a sling strapped across her chest, her wrist wrapped. He expected it since she had fallen—or jumped—out of a car from the passenger side. Trapper looked at her chart again and saw that she had severe abrasions on her hands and knees. Dr. Roush had written that the injuries were compatible with falling or jumping from a moving car and landing on her right side.

He walked closer to the bed, glancing at the monitors. He trusted the machines but he still gently raised her left arm by its narrow wrist to take her pulse. Then he placed her arm back on the bed and bent over slightly to see the other side of her face. He sucked in his breath.

It couldn't be her, he told himself. No, it couldn't be and yet…Trapper walked around the foot of the bed to the other side and opened the blinds slightly to let in the light of street lamps. It was her—he was sure of it. His heart thumped violently and suddenly, memories of that weekend almost a year ago, flooded him. He remembered the taste of her mouth and the feel of her breasts in his hands, the smoothness of her belly and thighs, the firmness of her buttocks, as well as the moist valley between her legs. It was her—he had found her again.

And he still didn't know who she was.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The woman moved her head slightly and opened her eyes—staring directly into his.

Trapper smiled in his best avuncular manner—benign and non-threatening. "I didn't mean to wake you." Trapper watched, looking for any flicker of recognition in her eyes or an expression of surprise that they had met again but saw none. He was disappointed—profoundly disappointed. She should have remembered; it had been more to him than just two days of sex. They had talked about things, things other than themselves—she hadn't allowed personal revelations. Trapper had been willing to dance to her tune and had hoped that when they said goodbye, she would give him her name and ask him if they could continue but she hadn't. It appeared she didn't remember him—there wasn't the intake of breath, no widening of the eyes at seeing him—nothing. And then he was angry with himself. He shouldn't care if she remembered him or not-but he had hoped she would. People always said he was memorable, his height and size, his deep voice and graying beard not easily forgotten, but either she _had_ forgotten him or for some reason, chose to pretend she had. And if she was pretending, she was convincing

"Who are you?" Her voice was low.

"Dr. John McIntyre. I need to examine you. Can I? It's better if I do it now than wait until morning but I didn't want to wake you."

She shrugged slightly but watched him suspiciously—at least it seemed that way to him. But then, he considered, he himself was a suspicious person so perhaps he was merely projecting. Wasn't he suspicious of her, doubting whether she had a true case of amnesia? He had never really known her-only in the "biblical" way, but as for who she was, where she was from and why she happened to be in Los Vegas that weekend, he never knew.

"I need to turn on the light. All right?" She nodded but Trapper noticed she didn't take her eyes off him. He pulled the chain and the light above the bed clicked to the lowest setting casting a soft light over her. It upset him to see her face—one side untouched, the complexion creamy and pure, while the other side was bruised with a large purple spot below the left eye. Trapper felt rage against whomever had harmed her. He pulled out a small penlight and checked her eyes quickly. "Good," he murmured.

"What's good?"

"Your pupils responded to the light—that's good. You have a concussion. Did anyone tell you?"

"They might have. I…is that why my head hurts so much?" She reached up and pressed a palm into her skull. Trapper gently pulled her hand away.

"It's best if you just refrain from…just don't press on your head." Trapper scanned her face. She was as beautiful as he remembered and his desire was to lean down and kiss her mouth, to feel again the yielding softness and wet warmth.

"Why are you looking at me that way? Has something happened to me? My face, it's sore on this side." She reached up again to touch her face and Trapper gently caught her hand in his and held it longer than he should had—just a few seconds too long but she seemed to notice.

"I'm just watching for signs that you may be more seriously injured than you seem. You have some bruises—looks as if someone struck you. Do you remember that? Do you remember what happened to you?" She looked confused and Trapper sensed her agitation and rising panic. "I don't want to upset you but what is the last thing you remember?" He waited.

"I remember walking…I was afraid and then…a man and a woman stopped me and kept telling me that the paramedics were coming and I kept thinking how much my wrist hurt." She reached over and touched her bound right wrist. "Then the paramedics came and there were police but I wanted to go home. But I couldn't…I can't remember even my name. Why can't I remember?" She was nearing hysteria.

Trapper spoke soothingly, the way he had when his children were small and had bad dreams or had fallen and hurt themselves. "Now just relax for me, would you? Just breathe normally. There you go. Take a soft breath in and then just release it normally. You're fine now. You probably can't remember anything about yourself because you've hit your head. That's all." He stood and waited until she calmed and then turned her gaze on him again. She seemed to trust him and he didn't want to jeopardize that. "Now I need to palpate your abdomen. Let me know if there's any tenderness."

"All right." She took a deep breath as if steeling herself against expected pain.

Trapper pulled down the sheet and blanket and folded them below her hips. She lay below him in a hospital gown. He gently pressed about her abdomen, feeling for any odd lumps or tenderness and when he pressed over her liver and spleen, she gave a small gasp. "Tender?" She nodded and tried to control her breathing again.

"Wait just a moment," she said raising her hand in protest. He waited while she closed her eyes and swallowed. "All right," she said quietly. He continued his examination but she didn't react to any other spot. Then he pulled the sheet and blanket back up. She had watched him the whole time.

"I'm going to order a CAT scan of your abdomen since the ultrasound you already had showed swelling. It may take an hour or so before they come for you. About your head, well, you had some scans already but if your pain gets worse, I'll order some more."

"Are you my doctor?" she asked. "I've already dealt with so many people…"

"No, I'm just consulting with Dr. Roush. As I said, my name's McIntyre. I'm head of surgery. Dr. Roush asked me to check on you because you may need surgery."

"First, I don't want any surgery."

"No one yet had said you do. That's why I want the CAT scan. But if you do need it…"

"I told you—I don't want it and I won't sign any papers. I won't."

"Well, that may be and as an adult you have that right. But according to the law, even if you won't give your approval, I can override you if it's to save your life. And since you have no identification and we don't know who you are or your next of kin—that is if you have any…" Trapper stopped as she abruptly sat up and then immediately dropped back onto the pillow, putting a hand on her forehead. "Don't sit up again," he said sharply and then quietly added, "please. You're pumped full of medicine and you also might dislodge your IV. Please stay lying down."

A sob escaped her and she began to cry.

Trapper pulled a chair next to the bed and sat down. "Now listen. I want to ask you some questions. Do you think you can answer me?" He pulled a tissue out of the box on the tray and handed it to her. She took it from him and wiped her eyes.

"Yes." She turned her eyes on him and Trapper realized that there was absolutely no recognition of him there. None. And he was bereft. He had told her his name again, told her what he did and still nothing from her. Obviously, he told himself, he wasn't as memorable a lover as he had hoped.

"What's your name?"

"I…I know it, really, I do but, I mean…" She struggled with the answer.

"Okay. Do you know where you are?"

She made a sound of disgust. "In a hospital. Thanks for an easy one."

Trapper smiled. "Do you know what city? What hospital?" She a paused. Then quietly said no. "Okay. How old are you?"

"How old do I look?" Trapper smiled. "I can't remember."

She began to breathe rapidly again and Trapper feared she was going into a full-blown anxiety attack.

"Okay," Trapper said. "I think those are all the questions I have for the time." He stood up and she looked up at him. He noticed the hazel cast to her eyes; he had always thought her eyes were beautiful and they had haunted him months after their tryst.

"If I do need surgery and you, well, if you override me, will you perform the surgery?"

"Would you like me too?" he wasn't certain if she hoped he would or wouldn't.

"Yes."

"Then I will. You need to get some sleep. But before I leave, can I get you anything?"

"Some water. My mouth is so dry. The nurses won't give me any."

"You can't have water in case you need surgery. But I tell you what; I'll have the nurse give you some ice chips—but you can only suck on them. Let them melt in your mouth. Okay?"

"Yes." She smiled sadly. "Thank you, Dr. McIntyre."

He noted that she had remembered his name from when he introduced himself earlier so her memory functioned. "You're welcome."

"Will you be back?"

"Yes. I'll be back to see you in the morning. Early. And I'll give you the results of the CAT scan and what action I recommend." She nodded. "You're safe here. You need to know that. Let me worry about things for you; I don't sleep well anyway." He turned off the light above her bed.

"Thank you," she said and closed her eyes. He started to leave.

"Doctor? Am I a Jane Doe?" She turned to look at him as he almost stood at the door.

"Actually," he said, "Dr. Roush has you down as _The Woman_."

She laughed lightly. "Maybe my name's Irene Adler. What do you think the chances are?"

He laughed as well. "I can assure you that Dr. Roush is no Sherlock Holmes although there is always some detective work involved in diagnosing. You remember Doyle's characters? The story?"

"Oddly enough, I do…as if I read it only yesterday. _Scandal in Bohemia_. Correct? A woman of ill-repute involved in a scandal. I wonder…"

"Yes, correct."

Trapper watched her sigh again and then she closed her eyes. He continued to watch as her breathing softened and she quickly succumbed to sleep. And he watched her for a few moments longer before he finally left to record his on observations. And he wondered if his previous relations with her should be part of his report or not—was it pertinent? Or would it be cruel? He didn't know and for the first time in a long time, he was lost as to how to proceed.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Trapper kept glancing at the woman as he finished his meal; seeing a woman dining alone was odd, especially one so attractive and attractive she was—she stirred his blood just from the way she handled her cutlery-elegantly. He surmised she was in her late 30's—maybe early 40's but she had dark auburn hair that fell just to her shoulders and was dressed modestly. He hadn't seen her in any of the conference sessions so she obviously was in Las Vegas for another reason but she didn't look like a gambler. But looks could often be deceiving. Trapper s considered that she may be a grifter but he quickly discarded it. If she were, she would have noticed his interest by now and tested him with a smile and perhaps a suggestive gesture such as touching her throat and running her fingers to the cleft of her bosom to see his reaction. But she seemed not to have any interest in anyone, actually seemed to be avoiding looking at anyone else in the room. And she had a split of wine, drinking it herself although she didn't seem to actually enjoy it. _So,_ Trapper thought, _she wants to get drunk._ And that intrigued him.

"So what do you say, Trap?" Gonzo asked. He and Jackpot had already finished their dinners and were waiting for Trapper's answer. "The show at the X-Burlesque is supposed to cater to every X-rated fantasy a man could have—imagine it. The concierge also told us that some of the strip shows, well, they rival anything offered in Amsterdam."

"Yeah," Jackpot added. "Let's not waste the extra two days you talked Arnold into adding. After all that, aren't you going to take advantage of it?"

"I'm just too tired tonight. Getting up and sitting in those conferences all week and then presenting, well, I just want to spend a quiet night in my room—maybe order a good movie." Trapper had finagled Arnold, the man in charge of the hospital's purse strings, to tack on two more days to their time in Las Vegas. Stanley was going to stay longer in Las Vegas as well but then changed his mind; his wife would have been alone with their six-month-old baby all week and he wanted to avoid any possible argument. So Stanley he had flown out for San Francisco five hours earlier as the medical conference had ended at 1:00, right after a buffet meal that rivaled that of any depraved, sensual Roman emperor.

"Of course I'm going to take advantage; I'll order food as well as a bottle of good wine. I'm going to relax for the next two days and enjoy this as the vacation I deserve."

Gonzo and Jackpot looked at one another.

"Think that'll be us when we're old?" Jackpot asked, nodding towards Trapper..

"I hope not," Gonzo said and the two men rose from their table. Trapper just smiled at the insult. "You'll sign for us, okay?"

"Yes," Trapper said, raising his glass to them.

"And leave a good tip," Jackpot said. "We don't want to give doctors a bad name."

~ 0 ~

Trapper hesitated. He would be intruding if he spoke to the woman—it was obvious that she wanted to be left alone. And yet, he knew that if he passed up the chance to meet her, he would regret it later, would lie in bed trying to sleep but would be thinking over the lost opportunity. And if it ended by her telling him to go to hell, well, at least he'd know. So as he passed her table, Trapper leaned in as she seemed to be deciding whether or not to finish her meal, pushing the food about on the plate.

"You should at least eat your broccoli—it's good for you but as for the hollandaise, well, not so much."

She looked up at him and he was struck by the beauty of her eyes, how pure and open their expression was—and trusting. Her face had a delicate beauty that reminded him of a china doll his sister, Sarah, had once had sitting on the bookcase in her bedroom at home. It had been a Christmas present a few years ago form their now-deceased grandmother Sylvia.

Once, as a child, angry with Sarah for playing with his Lincoln Logs, he had grabbed the doll and threatened to dash it against the wall if she ever touched his things again. And Sarah begged him not to and called for their mother. She had come in, furious.

"Johnny's going to break my doll just because I made Barbie furniture outta his dumb old Lincoln Logs!"

"John Francis Xavier, give your sister back her doll! Now."

Trapper was equally furious. He wanted to tell his mother that Sarah had gone into his room while he was outside and taken what was his and she had no right to touch them. He looked at the doll in his hand. Her arms and legs as well as her face were a smooth porcelain-fragile and so easily destroyed. But it was the face with the subtle hues of pink and the deep blue eyes that affected him even more than his mother's demand. He was angry that Sarah and Maureen, his other sister, were always taking and playing with his things—his soccer ball, his baseball and bat, but he couldn't destroy something of such delicate and rare beauty. So silently, he handed the doll back to his sister who hugged the doll to herself. And when their mother left telling him to leave as well, Sarah put out her tongue in victory. But when she died two years later of leukemia, Trapper had insisted that she be buried with the china doll; in his mind the two were connected as delicate beings of beauty that were too quickly lost.

He couldn't lose this woman as well. Trapper wondered if she was as easy to destroy as that doll had been, is a cruel word or careless remark would cause her to shatter. He waited for her response to his comment and was surprised that he felt nervous-unsure. He had long ago learned to let rejection just wash over him and to let it go, but he didn't want her to reject him—he would keep trying.

"Yes, well…I know. Who are you?"

"My name's John McIntyre. I'm here for the medical con…"

"Oh, yes. I was told there was a medical convention going on. I asked at the desk yesterday who all the people were filling the hotel. I thought it had ended today?"

"Yes, but I decided to stay on until Sunday night. Just a small vacation before..." She said nothing more and Trapper felt foolish. "Are you trying to drink that whole spilt of wine?"

She glanced at the bottle. "Yes, actually, I am. I have decided to get drunk but I don't really care for the stuff; I thought that I may as well become drunk on the expensive stuff. You see, I've never been drunk before—a little fuzzy but not drunk-and I've decided that I want to try some things I've never done never tried because I've been too afraid or too good. I have always been a very good girl. So…one thing I'm trying is eating alone which I've now done and wasn't really that enjoyable; I imagine everyone is asking themselves what's wrong with me that no one wants to eat with me—I'm very self-centered you see. Snd another thing I want to do is becoming drunk."

"I see. Interesting. Well, the main problem in getting drunk is that you pay for it the next day. And although a few glasses of wine can even be beneficial to health, that much—a whole split-well, not good, especially for someone not used to-champagne." Trapper turned the bottle to look at the label. "Well, this really is the good stuff."

She paused and looked at the food and the wine before her. "Then won't you join me for a glass? Perhaps between us we can finish it off. I think I should get my money's worth at least."

"I have a better idea," Trapper said. "Why don't we go for a walk outside? It'll clear your head."

"I don't know that I can trust you although you have genuine eyes, their expression, that is. Are you a kind doctor? Do your patients trust you?"

"I hope they do and I try to be…'kind' although it's sometimes a matter of opinion. The truth can be hard to take and seen as cruel."

She smiled then. "I would imagine some things you say to a patient are like a bucket of water in the face. But since I've never picked up a man before—or let myself be picked up, it may as well be by someone who has kind eyes and the terrible habit of telling the truth. And I've never known a doctor…socially that is. I would imagine your female patients hope that they need to disrobe in front of you." She laughed. "I think you blushed, doctor…what did you say your name was?" He started to tell her again but she stopped him. "No…don't tell me." She pushed her chair back and Trapper stepped behind her to help with her chair. "I have always fantasized about having an anonymous one-night stand with a total stranger, a handsome stranger and you seem to fit the bill." She stepped closer to him. "You are handsome, doctor. Do you know that?" She wavered slightly and then recovered. "You must be making me swoon with your nearness."

"Let's pay your bill," Trapper said. He reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out his wallet.

"No, no, no," she said. "I will pay my bill. I am very, very wealthy and can afford my own dinner. I have already told them to put it on my hotel tab—including the gratuity." She slipped her purse strap over her shoulders.

"Okay. Let's go walk around the fountain." He slipped an arm about her waist and found that her proximity excited him as well as the thought that she might later invite him up.

"I have a better idea," she said as they walked into the lobby. "Why don't you come to my room? We can talk and…as I said, I want to do things I've never done before. I'm changing my life and I don't want to regret not having tried things. Do you know what I mean?"

"Yes, I know what you mean but there is something to be said for caution."

"Not much," she said. "I have decided caution just causes one to miss out on potential opportunities and I'm tired of missing out on things." She stopped and turned to look at him. "Tell me something, doctor. When you stopped by my table, were you hoping to sleep with me? You can be honest."

"Yes. I was hoping to and I also was undressing you."

She laughed. "Oh, doctor, doctor. While you were standing by my table, I kept glancing at your crotch, noticing the rising shape. I knew then that you wanted me. So come upstairs with me." She touched his jacket's lapel and he reached down and held her hand. And then he noticed the rings.

"You're married." He felt his heart drop. He couldn't be a party to adultery; he knew how much it hurt to be betrayed. "I didn't realize that you…"

"Oh…" she said looking down at her left hand. She twisted and the diamond ring came off. The she took off the plain band and tossed it into the dirt of a nearby potted palm. "How much do you think I can get for this?" She held up the diamond ring.

"I have no idea but it looks like good quality. I hate to break it to you but removing a ring doesn't mean you're divorced; you're still married."

"But not for long. That's the biggest change I'm making. Now, doctor, are you interested in me or not? Do I need to find someone else to have a meaningless affair with?" She waited.

"Why me? Because I spoke to you?"

"No. It's because I like the way you smell. Now yes or no?"

Trapper said nothing more, just slipped an arm around her and kissed her. Her mouth suited him—it was warm and yielding and he imagined that the rest of her body would be as well.

"I take it that's a yes," she said breathlessly clinging to him.

He chuckled and guided her to the elevator. "That's a yes. Now your room or mine?"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

He turned off the machine. All had to do was speak and his voice was recorded with all his observations and recommendations; he'd have it delivered to the transcriptionist but he'd make it a point to talk to Roush and the hospitalist. Trapper sat back, looked at his desk and then moved papers around attempting to put some order back into his world—the woman had upset his sense of calm. Seeing her again caused his need for her to be fully realized. After their last day, after he had seen her off in an Uber for the airport, he had felt such a sense of loss and his hands practically itched to cup her breasts again and feed one hard-tipped pink nipple into his mouth while rubbing his thumb over the neglected one. Even now he could recall the sound of her voice as she sighed in delight and her small cries and moans when he pleased her.

"You're going to make yourself crazy. She's a patient—a patient," Trapper reminded himself. He wanted off her case, didn't want to have anything to do with her professionally. Only then could he allow himself to remember the feel of her thighs wrapped about his waist or her mouth on him, pleasing him in many and varied ways.

As far as her requiring surgery, he had recommended a wait-and-see attitude; her counts were good, much better than earlier and the results from the CAT scan had come back showing nothing unusual. The woman must have suffered some bruising when she fell—he hoped. He hated to think of something hurting her, perhaps punching her; it made him angry just thinking about what type of man could harm such beauty. Trapper went back to the first night they were together and how smooth her skin felt under his palm as he ran it across her abdomen, slightly rounded.

 _"_ _So doctor, I see you have no ring. My guess is…divorced?"_

 _"_ _Yes." Trapper leaned over and kissed her again. Although his initial passion had been sated, the memory of how it felt to be in her embrace warmed him again, stirred him afresh. She had been so willing, so eager to join with him that he was almost grateful. His social life had been empty of late and he didn't realize how much he longed to hold, touch and kiss a woman until they fell together in an embrace, legs and arms mingling in their efforts to couple. And she had allowed him all liberties—anything he wanted. But she refused to tell him her name saying that is wasn't important. Besides she had said, her lips against his neck, "I find things more exciting this way." And then he had sighed as she ran her lips down his neck and across his chest, her teeth lightly closing on a nipple, causing him to jerk at the quick pain. But there was more and more until he lay back, breathing heavily, trying to recover._

 _Later they lay indolently in each other arms, in an embrace that allowed them to remain close and he could feel her dampness against his stomach as she flung a leg across him. "What does you husband do for a living?"_

 _"_ _He's an accountant. At least that's what I say to annoy him but he corrects me, says that he's not just an accountant; he's a CPA. Apparently there's more status in that."_

 _"_ _More money too-good money," Trapper said, his eyes closed as sleepiness began to overcome him. "Are you sure you want to divorce him? I'm feeling guilty about all this, you know."_

 _"_ _I'm sure—very sure. But why are you feeling guilty? Was unfaithfulness part of your reason for divorcing? Were you an adulterous cad?"_

 _Trapper opened his eyes and looked straight into her green-gray eyes. She was propped up, watching him. "No. I wasn't—at least well…. The first few years we were married, I was stationed overseas…"_

 _"_ _Oh? In the Military?"_

 _"_ _Yes. I did my duty for God and country and enlisted. But enlisting also forgave the rest of my medical school loan. Anyway, I was unfaithful then. More than once. I told her when I came home and she forgave me. I found out in marriage counseling that Melanie—that's my ex—had an affair with my partner. It may have been for revenge. I…"_

 _"_ _Oh. That must have hurt. Two people you trusted betraying you."_

 _"_ _I was a damn fool. I should have known-all the signs were there but I was working so hard to make a go of things, to have a successful practice. Hell, I was the best chest-cutter in the whole goddamn army and wanted to keep my reputation intact. I earned a reputation as the best thoracic surgeon in the Bay area—became known as the cancer doctor since all the lung cancer patients came to see me—my parner was rarely in. Well, we broke the partnership—I broke the partnership—bought him out-because I was doing all the work and he wasn't do much of anything. Now I know he was fucking my wife and that's why he was late back from lunch every day._

 _He wasn't unfaithful to you, was he?"_

 _"_ _No. But he's not here, is he? This was supposed to be a get-away for us to reconcile, to fall in love again-a suggestion from the marriage counselor. Wasted money. We weren't in Las Vegas for even two hours and one of my husband's clients called and when he hung up, he said we had to leave. And that was it for me. I told him that we were over—no more counselors—nothing."_

 _"_ _You feel that way now but what about tomorrow or next week."_

 _"_ _No. I've felt this way for months, actually almost a year. I'd like to say that I want a divorce because he puts his work over me but that's not it. I just…I need something more and I don't even know what it is. And I've always been so good, so proper that…well, I've always fantasized about an anonymous affair, a...what's that term that's in a book where the woman relates having an anonymous quickie?"_

 _"_ _A zipless fuck."_

 _"_ _Yes! That's it. That's what I want. A guilt-free, remorseless fuck! The perfect one-night stand."_

 _"_ _I don't think there is such a thing," Trapper said._

 _"_ _Then why did you come up with me?"_

 _"_ _Oh, plain lust," he chuckled and she smiled. "You may regret this yet if you decide later you want to reconcile with your husband."_

 _"_ _No. Even if I did, even if I did get back with my husband, I wouldn't regret this time with you. So far, I've thrilled in every moment. Now, let's stop talking and get back to the business at hand." And with that, Trapper felt her hand reach down and take his willing member into her fist and he grinned._

 _"_ _Once more unto the breach," he growled and pulled her, laughing at his comment, into his arms. But Trapper considered that he wanted to know who this woman was, wanted to know more about her but she had set the parameters and he was willing to abide._

 _So the next two days they spent together in her hotel room, only seeing room service and the maid who changed their sheets. Trapper's phone rang once with Gonzo asking him where the hell he was. "I'll meet you in the lobby at 6:00 Saturday evening to leave for the airport." And although Gonzo asked him what was going on, Trapper just told him not to worry, just be on time._

 _And Trapper and the woman talked between their bouts of passion. She listened to him as he talked answering her questions, volunteering information. But she didn't want to know his name or where he lived or worked._

 _"_ _Why not? You know I'm a doctor—why not the rest of it?"_

 _"_ _Because this way, I can't seek you out. Later, that is. You wouldn't want me showing up on your doorstep, would you?"_

 _"_ _I might. Actually, I would. Much better than the morning paper that lands on my doormat. Or is it that you don't want me showing up at your door?"_

 _"_ _I don't know. In a way, you scare me. I could care for you very much and to be honest, I keep thinking about what a relationship with you might be like and I don't want to start anything with anyone. I have to exorcise my bad marriage first. But you won't be around then, will you?"_

 _"_ _No."_

 _"_ _So let's make the most of this time together, shall we?"_

Trapper sighed and leaned on his elbows, resting his head in his clasped hands. It was 7:00 in the morning and the sun was almost fully risen, the light slanting through the blinds on the large window behind him. There was a knock and Dr. Roush opened it.

"Glad you're in, Trap." He walked in and took a seat on the other side of Trapper's mahogany desk. "So what do you think about our mysterious patient?"

"You'll get a report by this afternoon but I think surgery can wait. Let's watch her for a while. I'll talk to Farragut but I've left a note in the records."

"You think she really has amnesia?"

Trapper sighed again. "Yes, I think she does."

"Did you asked her about the flash drive?"

"No. That can wait. Besides she probably wouldn't remember. Nothing seemed to jar her into remembering anything." Trapper decided to keep to himself that he had spent a weekend with the woman in Las Vegas. "But she did know that 'The Woman' was from a Sherlock Holmes story. Asked if maybe her name was Irene Adler. She's kept her sense of humor and obviously remembers some things, past knowledge, but as to who she is, any relatives...nothing that I could detect but she was tired and drowsy. I want Slattery to see her. He ought to be able to tell us more about her state of mind."

"Why not Edith Bellamy? A woman might be better able to relate and Bellamy's really good with children and she counsels at the Crisis Center? This might be right up her alley."

"Bellamy can be patronizing-too used to working with children and this patient would resent the attitude. I think she would relate better to a man—more inclined to talk."

"Why's that?"

"I can't quite…I just think she would. I'll set up an appointment with Slattery."

"Thanks, Trapper, for following up. I'll check back and see how she's coming along." Roush walked toward the door.

"With all the patients you see every day in Emergency," Trapper asked, "why so interested in her?"

"A woman without an identity—that's intriguing. And a beautiful woman? Even more so. And if she needs a place to stay, well, I have a guest room."

"You also have a wife."

"Well, maybe she'd like the company. Besides my interest in the woman is purely professional, I assure you." Roush grinned.

"The hell it is."

Roush stopped with his hand on the door knob and turned to look at Trapper. "Get some sleep. You look tried." Then he left, closing the door behind him and the office was silent except for the ticking of a clock on the wall and the soft purr of the air conditioning.

Trapper sat for a few moments longer. He realized that he hadn't even considered sending the woman to see Dr. Bellamy. He wondered then if Dr. Slattery was the best choice. He would be able to tell either of them about his previous relationship with the woman and it would be kept in confidence but he remembered what the woman had told him while they were in bed:

 _"_ _I've always gotten on well with men. I suppose that's because my father and I were very close and my mother, well, she was cold. Beautiful but cold and I couldn't ever talk to her."_

He picked up the phone and reached Slattery's voicemail. "Regis? Trapper here. Do me a favor and stop by room 354 to see a patient. She presents as an amnesiac…"


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Trapper stood outside the woman's hospital room; it was closed. The nurse said the woman preferred it that way. He had just finished talking with Dr. Regis Slattery and now wanted to talk to the woman himself so he rapped on the heavy door with his knuckles and waited, leaning in to listen. Then he heard a barely audible, "Come in."

 _"_ _I believe she's a true amnesiac—at least for the time. It may be of organic origin or psychological; right now it's hard to say. She is anxious and upset—wanted to know how her treatment was going to be paid."_

 _"_ _She is practical, isn't she?" Trapper chuckled softly._

 _"_ _Yes. She's intelligent as well and clever enough to be manipulative but as far as this bout of amnesia, it's not an act—in my professional opinion, of course."_

 _"_ _What bothers me," Trapper said, "is what's to become of her? I mean I checked her chart this morning and her bloodwork is excellent, her blood pressure's down to normal. Were she just an ordinary patient who'd been in an accident, we'd discharge her in another day and just recommend an orthopedist to follow-up on her wrist."_

 _"_ _That I can't say—what's to become of her-and that's her worry as well. She has no money on her, can't remember if she has a bank account, and she has no place to go. She joked and said she didn't even have a car to sleep in like a normal homeless person. She's afraid she's going to end up in a shelter. She knows no one would hire someone with no name, no past, no records on file anywhere and it's keeping her from having a positive outlook—state of mind is important. I told her I'd send by a caseworker and she laughed—asked what they were supposed to do for her. I told her she'd have to be fingerprinted; it might help with her identity. Then she said maybe she was a criminal or someone who had a notorious past. She wasn't sure she'd want to know all of that. And then she broke down it tears."_

 _Trapper shifted in his chair. "I feel I should tell you, well, I know her—not her name—but I met her in Las Vegas at a medical convention and we…well, I was surprised to see her."_

 _Slattery cleared his throat. He sat forward. "She doesn't remember you?"_

 _"_ _No. But then after what we did together, well, she may not want to acknowledge it or me."_

 _"_ _And I take it you don't want to remember it either."_

 _"_ _No, I…actually, the things we did together—which, by the way, may be against some laws in Nevada—well, I remember them while I'm pleasuring myself. I swear she has an ass just like a peach." Slattery smiled; he made a mental note to see her once she was on her feet. Trapper continued. "That's not my professional opinion, of course—just my own personal observation. I don't want anything more to do with her professionally; I find myself unable to separate my personal feelings from my professional."_

 _"_ _I see," Slattery said. "I think that's best, that you step away. But do you remember anything she said—when you first met her? Did she mention a husband, his name, where she was from?"_

 _"_ _No. Well not by name. She said her husband was a CPA and that they were on their way to divorce. Didn't mention any place as her home—she just wanted a weekend with a stranger, something she had never done before, and she chose me. But as for remembering me now—not a flicker of recognition. And I don't think it's an act either; her fear is too real."_

 _"_ _She asked me about you."_

 _"_ _Oh?" Trapper's curiosity was piqued. He knew it was his ego that was yearning for some recognition. "What did she say?"_

 _"_ _Well, she asked who I recommended if she needed surgery. She said a tall, bearded doctor had seen her the first night and said he was a surgeon. She said you hadn't been back to see her since but if she needed surgery, she wanted you to do it. I told her you were Dr. McIntyre and that I would certainly recommend you."_

 _"_ _Well, I'd rather she said she'd want me to screw her than operate. But to be honest, I don't think I could make that first slice into her flesh. But she doesn't seem to need any surgery; I think I'll make one last visit and tell her that she doesn't need surgery and that my part in her case is finished. I talked to Farragut and recommended one more ultrasound but I think she'll be fine. It's just her memory and…she had a flash drive in her bra; I think she was hiding it from someone…Farragut says he doesn't know if the woman was pushed out of a car, jumped or what—whenever she's asked for details, she just become confused and upset. But I think the flash drive is important. I want to ask her about it and tell her to turn it over to the police."_

 _"_ _There's not an investigation as there's nothing to investigate—she can't file charges against anyone because she can't remember. Someone from the police is coming in tomorrow, like I said, for fingerprints. Oh, another thing—she's worried about money like I said, about paying her hospital bill and where she's going to live like I told you. Those seem foremost on her mind; the case worker will help with the finances."_

 _Trapper stood up. "Honest opinion-do you think I should tell her about our time together in Las Vegas?"_

 _Regis paused, considering. "No. This isn't a good time. It would be too much for her to think about."_

 _"_ _She might let me…help her if she knew…help take care of her. I could look after her until she recovers—or if she doesn't, to get a new life for herself."_

 _"_ _I don't think that's a good idea either." Regis stood up and approached Trapper._

 _"_ _I didn't think it would be. But I'll talk to Ernie. She might be able to find a place where the woman can stay when she's released—other than a homeless shelter. Or Christine Baranski. I'll send Ernie for clothes—I'll pay. I don't like the idea of her wearing cast-off clothes."_

 _"_ _I thought you were bowing out," Slattery said._

 _"_ _I am—basically-but I want to relieve her anxiety and not with valium." Trapper opened the door. "Thank, Max."_

 _"_ _If she remembers anything, let me know."_

 _"_ _I will."_

 _"_ _And Trapper…"_

 _"_ _Yes"_

 _"_ _Watch yourself."_

Trapper opened the door and stepped in. The woman turned to look at him, a sad, half-smile on her face. The TV was on. She was watching a movie.

"Am I interrupting?"

"No, doctor," she responded and picked up the remote, turning off the television. "I've seen it before. It's an older movie- _Superman_ with Christopher Reeve and Margo Kidder. Marlon Brando plays Superman's father. Funny. I can remember all that—even sitting in a theatre watching it and I think I was on a date. I can remember that but not who I am? Odd, isn't it?"

Trapper stepped closer. "That's how memory loss works, bits and pieces but eventually, sometimes the pieces connect and then everything starts to fall into place. Sometimes it's physical and sometimes it's not."

"At least it's not short-term memory. I remember you."

Trapper's heart pounded; she said she remembered him. "Oh? You do?"

"Yes. You came in the first night I was here. You were kind and compassionate and made me feel calm. You have an excellent bedside manner and if nothing else, I'd recognize you by your voice alone."

He struggled to recover his equanimity. "I'm just going to check your wrist." Trapper gently picked up her arm and pulled the Velcro straps off to remove the brace. He lightly moved her hand. "How's this feel?"

"Sore. But I'm full of pain killers and valium and whatever they pump into me through that IV tube."

"Looks like your wrist should heal fine," he said while putting the brace back on, "but we'll want you to see an orthopedist in about two weeks. Dr. Farragut'll recommend one. Let me take a quick look at your face." Trapper lean3ed down and gently held her face in his hands. "You have quite a few contusions and that's some shiner you have there." He took out his pen light to check her eyes again.

"Wait," she said.

"What?"

"Lean over me again. Come closer."

Trapper looked down at her. "What do you mean?" He realized that if he leaned in, he would be so close he could kiss her—could taste her mouth again.

"Just lean down—like you did when you were examining my face. Please." Trapper did as she asked and she closed her eyes and took a long breath. "I…your smell. I…I know it from somewhere. It's as if I know you from some other place, some...it's not a cologne, is it?"

"No. Patients' allergies and…"

"I know you from somewhere—somewhere…"

And Trapper didn't dare hope.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"Maybe I know you from a past life," she said. "Think it's possible?"

"Anything's possible. Your pupils look fine." Trapper stood up, slipping the penlight back into his pocket.

"Why don't you have one of those little tablets that all the other doctors have?" she asked.

"Because I'm not charging for my visits, that's why?"

"Oh, I see. So when a doctor comes in and he taps into that tablet, he's just putting in his time. How much would you be charging me, Dr. McIntyre, if you were on the clock?"

"You couldn't afford me," he said and was pleased to see her truly smile.

"I've had at least four doctors come in to see me today alone—and that's not counting Dr. Farragut."

"One of them was the neurologist—Dr. Scanlon. I checked your records before I came in. He's the one who ordered all those tests this afternoon."

"I was wheeled in and out of all sorts of rooms yesterday and the techs were the only ones who explained each procedure. Dr. Scanlon barely spoke to me—just asked questions but wouldn't answer any of mine. I don't like him—arrogant bastard."

Trapper laughed. She was still the basic person he had met before and he was comforted by that; her personality hadn't undergone any changes due to the trauma. "Well, he can be a little pompous but he's a good neurologist—knows his stuff. What did you want to know?"

"Why I can't remember. Is it permanent?"

"Dr. Scanlon didn't answer because he doesn't yet know—may not know even after the test results. But let me explain something about amnesia to you. There's idiopathic Global Transient Amnesia that usually passes in a few hours with no long-term effect. But since you came in with injuries and your memory hasn't returned, we didn't consider that as a possible cause so that's off the table. You don't have a tumor so that's not the cause of your memory loss—damage to a part of the brain. Your short term memory is also intact; you remembered my name from earlier and that's a good sign."

"Oh, goody," she said sarcastically. "I can learn a trade then—perhaps pay my huge hospital bill someday."

"Let that be the least of your worries, okay? You won't be slapped with a bill."

"If you say so, doctor. Now what else is possible as far as the cause of my amnesia?"

"Damage to your hippocampus. That would prevent memory—the information, that is, from processing. It's like cutting the cord to a television—no way for the information to reach the TV."

"You're holding out on me, doctor. You think it's something worse, don't you?"

"No, I don't. The answer might be dissociative amnesia, the result of trauma, physical or emotional or both—the patient doesn't want to remember because it's too painful so they…."

"Dissociate themselves. That's what you think it is, don't you?"

"I haven't seen all the test results and it's up to Dr. Scanlon to tell you his diagnosis—not me."

"What if it is dissociative amnesia? What's the treatment?"

"That falls in the area of psychology and although I know a little about it, it's not my area."

"Dr. Slattery? He's the one to help me if that's what it is? Talking about my problems?"

"Yes, but you have the option of finding your own therapist—psychologist." The woman sighed and looked at the ceiling. "Or your memory could suddenly return, either completely or in bits and pieces. Something you see or hear…or smell."

She quickly looked back at him. "But I might never remember, right?" Tears began to slide down her cheek and she wiped them away with her left hand.

"I can't say. I didn't mean to upset you. I'm sorry. Would you like me to send someone in to talk to you? A pastor maybe?" Much to his surprise she laughed and wiped away tears at the same time.

"No thank you, doctor. I don't think that praying will make my memory return. But I would like it if you'd stop by again as long as I'm here—or wherever they place me." The woman looked up at him. "Please."

"I'm not your doctor and I shouldn't…" he looked at her and his heart swelled. He wanted to grab her up and tenderly kiss her, to stroke her face and run his hands under her gown to feel the warmth of her skin and hear her sighs of pleasure. He suddenly realized that despite his best intentions, he couldn't stay away from her. She drew him to her. "I'll stop by tomorrow."

"Thank you. I want to smell you again." She smiled and wiped her cheeks again.

"What?" Trapper laughed but he knew that he wanted her to remember him and their time together. He also knew that oftentimes odors jarred free more repressed memories than any other sense.

"I don't mean to imply you stink! It's just that, when I smell you, it's as if there's something…just out of reach. A memory of someone…maybe if you keep visiting me, I'll remember. That is, if as you said, my amnesia is dissociative and not organic. Did I get all that right?"

"Yes, you did. I'm impressed."

"Good. I wanted you to be."

"Well, I have my own patients that need tending but I'll find time to stop by tomorrow." He turned to leave but stopped and faced her again. "I just remembered that my ex-wife volunteers at a woman's center. She might be able to help find a place for you to stay and perhaps find some work. I'll talk to her."

"Your ex?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Nothing. I just…I find it unusual that you're on good terms with your ex-wife, that's all. I think if…" The woman looked at her left hand. "I'm not married apparently."

Trapper stepped toward her. "No, you said…" She looked up at him expectantly. "Your jewelry—a cross necklace, earrings and I believe a ring of some sort, well, they're locked up at the nurse's station. Which reminds me…" Trapper walked over to a thin corner built-in closet that ran the height of the room. It was sub-divided by shelves and he opened it and pulled out a plastic bag, placing it on the bed. "These are your things and they found this…" he slid his hand into the bag and pushed aside the silky bra and panties along with the dress she had been wearing and pulled out the flash drive. "Does this mean anything to you? It was found on you."

"No. Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure."

"It means nothing to me."

"When you next see Dr. Slattery, show him this. Maybe he'll let have you open it and see if you remember anything. You had it hidden in your bra." She said nothing, just turned it over and over in her hand and then placed it on the small table beside her bed alongside the plastic pitcher of ice water.

"I don't want to look at it alone and not with him either. Do you have a laptop ot such that you can bring when you visit next?"

"I'll talk to him and see what he says. Goodbye…" Trapper felt awkward not saying her name—some name but he didn't know what to call her.

"Goodbye, Doctor. You promised to see me again. Remember that?"

Trapper nodded and smiled at what he was sure was a small joke on her part. His memory was intact and she must have sensed, must have known he couldn't possibly forget to stop by her room again. Trapper only hoped that he would be able to wait until tomorrow before seeing her again.


	7. Chapter 7

**I should have made a notation that I have brought Trapper up to contemporary times. I understand the confusion someone might have with modern technology if they visualize the story set in the 1980's.**

 **Chapter 7**

"I don't know why you're so concerned," Melanie McIntyre said to her ex-husband as they walked down the hospital corridor. "The social workers handle those things."

"I just think that if she could stay with you for a few days that it would be better. You have room at the condo." Trapper was surprised at his hostility but he felt he had paid for the condo and to ask for Melanie to let the woman stay for a few weeks wasn't asking much. After all, Melanie had received their large, impressive house in the divorce settlement and then, saying that the place was too big with the children gone, she sold it and bought her fifth-story condo with a view of the bay; there had even been money left over. He had also furnished the condo since he had paid alimony for the first five years after the divorce and Melanie redecorated the whole place around the antiques that her mother had given to her. The condo was a showplace-that was for certain.

"I also have all that expensive jewelry you've bought me over the years; I'll have to store everything in the drop safe and hide the Chinese collectibles at my mother's. I don't want a stranger in my house."

"She's not going to steal from you. You always think the worst, don't you? And you haven't even met her yet. You might like her." Melanie cocked one eyebrow. "Just meet her with an open mind." Trapper guided Melanie down the hall by her elbow. "This is it—354."

Earlier that morning, even before he left his townhouse for the hospital, Trapper had called his ex-wife, Melanie, about finding a place for the woman to stay until she recovered physically; Farragut had said that she shouldn't be alone or in a confusing place and Trapper had thought of Melanie as the last resort for help.

 _"_ _So since you volunteer at the Woman's Center, I thought maybe you could find a place for her."_

 _"_ _I volunteer three hours a week answering phones—that's it. I refer the callers to whomever is best. The calls are about unwanted pregnancies, being beaten by the men in their lives and then there are the women who want to divorce and don't know how to start it rolling; I'm really good at that one. I also put them in contact with safe houses or such if their lives are in danger. I can't set your patient up in a hotel!"_

 _"_ _I didn't ask you to. But she's in a delicate condition…"_

 _"_ _She's pregnant?"_

 _"_ _No, I didn't mean that. It's that she has lost any memory of who she is, where she's lived—all that. She needs stability. Just stop by and meet her. You might like her but even if you don't take to one another, maybe meeting her will help you think of a suitable place that she can stay."_

 _"_ _Will you take me out to lunch afterwards? At Rosselli's?"_

 _"_ _I try to avoid garlic working hours—my bedside manner always suffers after Italian. How about if I take you to Antoine's?"_

 _"_ _Better than nothing but no heavy sauces for me. I'll be there a little before noon. I'll meet you in your office."_

 _"_ _All right. I'll be expecting you."_

 _"_ _And, Trapper, don't tell me something came up and you'll give me a raincheck for lunch."_

 _"_ _I won't. I promise you lunch. See you at noon."_

 _"_ _Okay. Ciao."_

Trapper knocked on the partially open door before he pushed it open and stepped in. the woman was sitting cross-legged on the bed dressed in a pair of jeans and a sweater. A pair of flat, brown, leather sandals sat on the floor beside the bed. Her hair was wet.

"Good morning, doctor," the woman said, smiling. "I'm supposed to be…" She stopped talking when she saw Melanie and looked questioningly at Trapper.

"Oh, this is…" Trapper put out a hand to indicate Melanie but she stepped forward.

"I'm Melanie McIntyre, Trapper's wife." She put out her hand.

"Ex-wife," Trapper corrected. The woman still said nothing but put out her hand, shook, and forced a "Nice to meet you."

"I see they managed to get some clothes for you," Trapper said. "I'm glad."

"Yes," she looked down at herself. "Not particularly fashionable but they're clean and came from the hospital's thrift shop—or so they said. The sandals…a nurse donated them to me; she said they were too narrow for her."

"Well, at least you're ready to go when they release you," Trapper said. There was an awkward pause. Trapper noticed that Melanie had a sly smile on her face and she looked over at Trapper.

"I understand your interest now," Melanie said in a low voice to Trapper. She stepped closer to the woman. "Trapper told me that you have memory loss…"

"Trapper?" The woman looked at Trapper; he was obviously uncomfortable. He had often wished that he had never been saddled with that name but it had been his since he was a senior in college after an incident on a train returning from an away game; he and a sorority girl had a tryst in the train bathroom as the train had rocked along. He always regretted it but he had been so aroused by Princeton's win and the fact the he had been the key to the win with his arm, that the girl, obviously impressed by his performance on the field, had sat on his lap on the train and whispered that she wondered how he would perform in private.

That had been all he b needed but when they were caught coming out, their clothes rumpled, the girl had said that he had trapped her in the narrow room but that nothing had happened. Of course, none of his teammates believed her—and they called him Trapper John from then on. It had stuck even through medical school and beyond. Melanie had found out the first time she met his friends and so she took to calling him that as well.

"It's an unfortunate nickname given to me by my teammates at Princeton. It's just…"

Melanie laughed. "Don't ask how he got it—he won't tell you! Far too embarrassing!"

"Then I won't ask," the woman said. She had yet to smile since her first sight of Trapper coming into her room.

Melanie suddenly became sober; she didn't like this woman; Trapper was obviously intrigued by her and that alone made Melanie want to refuse her any help. Let her go to a homeless shelter, become a ward of the state. The woman was very pretty and that was enough for Melanie to resent her. Not that Melanie felt she wasn't pretty—she knew she was, but she still felt she had a claim on Trapper. He had always, always told her she was lovely and she treasured that. But this woman, as much as she hated to admit it to herself, was very pretty. Some might even say she was beautiful—it was hard to tell with her face so bruised and her lip still swollen. And by watching Trapper's reaction to the woman, Melanie could see that he was interested in this patient and not in a professional way; it was the way his face changed, the way his expression softened and even the tone of his voice changed—it became more intimate Standing in the same room with them was almost embarrassing to Melanie, almost as if she had walked in on them in the middle of the sex act.

Trapper waited but Melanie said nothing more. "I asked my ex to come here because I think she may be able to find you a place to stay. I've suggested that you stay…"

"I don't think that I'll be able to help her after all," Melanie said, turning to leave.

"Wait, you have connections—you can refer her to different agencies or even…"

Melanie just turned and with a forced smile on her face, said, "Goodbye. Good luck," walking out.

"Excuse me," Trapper said, leaving the woman sitting and took off after Melanie, She was only a few feet ahead of him and walking briskly. He grabbed her by the arm and she spun around in a fury.

"What the hell was that about?" Trapper asked.

"I am not going to abet you in your sex life!"

"What?" Trapper looked about. They weren't close enough to the nurses' station for anyone to hear what they were saying but Trapper didn't want to take a chance and become fodder for hospital gossip—especially not where the woman was concerned. He had tried so hard to remain neutral but he was having more and more difficulty. "Come with me." He took Melanie by the arm and escorted her around the corner to an empty room used for conferencing. It was where the shift change met to be notified of any special circumstances but right now, it was empty.

"Now," he said, "what are you talking about?"

"You think I can't tell? You haven't been that…excited since before we slept together. Are you crawling on top of her in your spare time, Trapper? Or is it all oral? Is that how she bruised her lip? You can be forceful, you know."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Are you saying you don't think she's pretty?"

"I never really…" Trapper sighed; he couldn't lie credibly. "Okay, I think she's pretty and I do like her and want to make sure she's taken care of but…."

"It's more than that though. I'm not blind! The sparks were flying back there. Made me feel a little jealous."

Trapper sighed and made an effort to control his pulse. He braced himself. "I met her in Vegas about a year ago…"

"And you've forgotten her name so quickly? Are you becoming senile?"

"No, I never knew her name. It was just a…weekend. There. Now you know."

"Does anyone else know?"

"Yes."

"Does she know?"

"No, and I see no reason to tell her. Melanie, if you would just let her stay with you for a few days then…"

"No. You find somewhere else for her to go. What about your place." Melanie wanted to get back at Trapper. He had practically flaunted this woman in front of her—a woman younger and perhaps even prettier. "That way you only need to roll over and there she is. Maybe if you fuck her again she'll remember you." Melanie almost added, "I've never been able to forget our nights together" but she was angry and jealous; she certainly didn't want to give Trapper a compliment.

"You know I can't have her at my place; it wouldn't be proper."

"You're not her doctor. I remember when you let that homeless kid stay at your place until his parents were found. Just think of this patient as a lost orphan. Maybe that will subdue your hard-on. And as far as lunch—I've lost my appetite!" Melanie started toward the door and Trapper made no motion to stop her. "Ciao!" Melanie waved and then left the room.

"Shit!" Trapper said and shoved one hand in his pants' pocket, his lab coat pushed back. He scratched his head with the other hand. He had to think of something. In a few hours the woman was to be discharged to a halfway house for women who had been in jail or prison. They had various jobs in the area but Trapper couldn't see the woman scrubbing toilets in a hotel or selling fast food via a drive-through window. And the other residents were all on probation—tough cases—but there was a vacancy at the half-way house and they said they would take the woman. But Trapper didn't want her to go. He didn't think she would stand a chance. He still had to keep trying.

Trapper was almost to his office when someone called his name—called him "Trapper." It was Dr. Stratford. He paused until Stratford reached him.

"I need to talk to you. It's about our patient."

"She's not my patient, remember? But come in." Trapper unlocked the door and the two men walked in but instead of taking a seat behind his desk, Trapper sat in one of the two chairs beside each other in front of his desk. Stratford took the other."What is it?"

"She and I looked at the thumb drive together this morning." Trapper leaned forward and Stratford continued. "It had financial information on it."

"She said in Vegas that her husband was a CPA."

"Well, that would make sense. Anyway, she was as puzzled as I was by it. There were no names—nothing—just abbreviations—some type of code or something like that-I didn't recognize any of it and it went on and on—we didn't even get to the end of it. There were dates attached to it, but…a forensic CPA would have to analyze it to make any sense of it. I told her again that she had hidden it and that the thumb drive may be why she had been hurt. It must be important. I asked her if I could call the police and she said she didn't care but the police, they didn't want it. Since as far as they knew, there was no crime connected to it—her fingerprints hadn't caused any hits anywhere in the data files-they had no cause to confiscate it. I felt like a damn fool."

"What did you do with it?"

"I gave it back to her; it's hers after all."

Trapper rubbed his ear in concentration. "She didn't remember anything about it?"

"Not a flicker of recognition." Stratford stood up and Trapper did as well. "Farragut is discharging her this afternoon; she's going to a halfway house so that's good."

"What do you mean, that's good? She doesn't belong in a halfway house with convicts. Am I the only one who sees something wrong with that arrangement?"

"Calm down. This isn't _Orange is the New Black_ or one of those '50's 'women in prison' movies. She's not going to be shanked or raped with a broom handle. It's a halfway house. These are other women who don't have a life as well and are looking to make a new one. I can't think of a better place."

"I can—just about anywhere else but…I asked Melanie to let her stay at her condo and she said no along with a few other choice things. Ernie would let her stay with her except that her boys are at an impressionable age—at least that's her reason—or excuse. And I've asked a few of the nurses but, well, if Gonzo needed a place they'd open up their doors, I'm sure, but not her. I even offered to pay for her keep but no takers."

"Then the halfway house it is."

"Not necessarily. I could let her stay at my place, I have an extra bedroom and in the den is a roll-out couch. That's downstairs and would be a whole flight of stairs away. I'm rarely home anyway and she can stay with me until I can make other arrangements." Trapper waited.

"I don't know if that's such a good idea. I mean you said that you and she…having her under the same roof with you…"

"You think I have no self-control! Give me a break here. I think I know how to keep it in my pants. Besides, it would be just until I can find someplace else."

"Right. That's how I came to own that mutt I do. My daughter said it would be just until she found a place that takes dogs. It's been five years and that mangy dog is still at my house-shedding all over the place and pissing on the rug. Well, it's up to you and her, of course, if she stays with you. And since you're not her doctor there's nothing unprofessional but it may look…" Stratford sighed. "Just be warned. Having her at your disposal might be dangerous."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

It had taken Trapper hours to fall asleep; the last time he glanced at the clock's glowing numbers, it had been 2:35. But his mind kept circling about the woman sleeping downstairs in the den. He had offered her the guest room upstairs and said he would take the den himself; he didn't mind and would probably spend more time sleeping on his office couch than at home anyway so it wouldn't be putting him out. That of course, was a lie. Although he had often performed surgeries that didn't end until the wee hours of the morning and had often caught a few hours of sleep on the couch in his office, those times were rare now. But he considered that he could actually sleep in his office if it would make her more comfortable and perhaps then she would take the guest room. But she declined and said she didn't want to put him out; he had done so much for her already.

So he had stayed in his office, going over data on the latest cases, making comments on the records for the interns he was supervising and perusing the latest updates on patient records; he staying until past midnight. He had quietly entered the house. He expected the alarm to be on—had shown the woman how to set the security code—but she hadn't activated it which he found odd but then perhaps, he considered, she didn't want to be awakened when the alarm went off. Trapper left off so that the beeping to activate it wouldn't disturb her. But as he passed the den door, he paused.

What if she wasn't there at all? He fought the urge to quietly open the door to see if she was asleep on the unfolded bed; he had pulled it out for her and moved some of the furniture to give her more room. But things were awkward; it seemed they were both aware of a mutual attraction and that they would be alone together—endless possibilities loomed. So after he had given the woman sheets for the bed and towels for the downstairs bathroom and told her to make herself at home and eat what she chose, he left again for the hospital. But he had to assume she was asleep and still there. But perhaps, as Ernie had warned, she had stolen his gold and diamond cufflinks, his grandmother's silver candlesticks, silver service set and God knew what other pieces of expensive art, and pawned them. But somehow, he didn't believe she would. The only thing he found a possibility was that she had gone. But he couldn't look inn on her; she wasn't s child and if she had decided to leave, well, he had done what he could.

So Trapper went up the stairs to bed.

And as he tried to sleep, Trapper pictured the woman as she must look in her sleep; he still remembered her face, so smooth and peaceful, the sip of her breath as he had tenderly held her. He tossed from side to side and then sat up and pounded the pillow as if that would make it any more comfortable. He couldn't find any position that induced sleep. Nothing worked but that finally, he imagined her mouth on him and what Melanie had said about the woman's bruised lips aroused him. Finally he gave in and pleasured himself with the memories of her hands cupping him, her soft, wet mouth on him and he groaned in release. And then sleep came.

The yelling awoke him—startled him awake. Trapper heard the loud voices and jumped out of bed—pausing only to grab his robe; he slipped it on while rushing down the length of stairs, finally tying the sash before he reached the den at the bottom. The light was on and a terrified J.T., his son, stood in the room while the woman stood on the far side of the bed, the brass lamp on the end table raised in her hand, ready to throw or to bludgeon.

"What the hell…?" Trapper looked at the two other people; she lowered the lamp slightly at the sight of Trapper, obviously relived he was there. And although Trapper didn't say anything, he was relieved to see her in the den; she hadn't deserted him.

"Pop!" J.T swung around, his eyes wide in surprise. "I'm sorry! I didn't know anyone was staying here. Tell her I'm not some intruder!"

"Actually, you are intruding?" Trapper looked from J.T. to the woman. She was covered only by a T-shirt he had given her to wear that night. "It's okay. This is my son, J.T. and I apologize for him but feel free to heave the lamp at him; he isn't supposed to be here anyway."

"I didn't know who he was," she said and lowered the lamp, setting it back on the table. "I'm sorry I yelled like I did—I was dreaming something when the light came on and…anyway, I just…I apologize for acting like I did. Please accept my apology, J.T."

"Oh, you don't have to apologize! It's all my fault. I just flipped on the light and…"

Trapper noticed J.T. appraising the woman's legs and loosed breasts under the light cotton. "Let's go, J.T. Go back to sleep," Trapper said to the woman and she nodded. J.T. apologized again and Trapper practically jerked him from the room, flipping off the light switch before he closed the door. He pulled J.T. over to the far side of the living room so that they wouldn't be heard.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry, Pop, but I didn't have anywhere else to go. I mean the people I was house-sitting for came home unexpectedly—I was sound asleep-and I had to pack up and leave. Well, my next house-sitting job doesn't start for two weeks and I, well, I thought I'd spend the next two weeks here; I didn't know you had company. I just flipped on the light and before I knew what was what, this woman jumped out of the bed and started yelling and asking who I was and what I wanted and, hell, I thought she was going to come over the couch and swing that lamp at my head. I'm really sorry but I didn't mean to cause any trouble."

"She's not company—well, not in the true sense. I'm letting her stay here for a few days until she finds a place." Trapper realized that the woman's situation and J.T.'s were similar and that his son realized it. "And why can't you stay at your mother's?"

"She doesn't like me showing up unannounced."

"And of course, I do."

"It's just that, well, last time I wanted to crash there, she had a man over and…you aren't hurt by that are you?"

"No. What your mother does now is her business."

"Look, Pop. Just let me stay until I can find another place, okay? Please?"

"Just until you find another place—that's it!" Trapper stabbed with his finger into his son's chest. "Take the guest room upstairs and don't make any more noise."

"Thanks, Pop" J.T. started to head up the stairs, shrugging off his backpack. Halfway up the stairs he stopped. "Is it okay if I get something to eat before I go to sleep? I promise to be quiet."

"That's fine but don't disturb her again or I'll toss you out"

"Promise." J.T. started back down the stairs. "And, Pop, it may be none of my business but she sure is pretty. Is it serious? Is she going to be my step-mother?" J.T. was intentionally prodding his father; he had noticed a look, something in his father's face that indicated that the woman in the den was more than just a person in need.

"Oh, for God's sake…just…" Trapper shook his head. "I'm going back to bed."

"What's her name?"

Trapper was too tired and too annoyed to explain the woman's conditions, her loss of memory; besides it seemed melodramatic. "Irene Adler."

"Oh, okay. I guess I'll call her Ms. Adler next time I see her." J.T. glanced at the closed door to the den.

"Yeah, you do that," Trapper said, passing J.T. and heading heavily up the stairs.

"And, Pop…" Trapper stopped and looked down at his son. "Why is she down here and you're up there? I mean your business is your business but from what I could see of her…"

"You're right—my business is mine and none of yours and she is my business," Trapper said. "Now I'm going back to bed and don't do anything to wake me or her up again. I have an early day and if I remember the schedule, so do you. Goodnight."

"Night, Pop," J.T. said as he watched his father go up into the darkness. J.T. knew, as many of the nurses at the hospital had told him, that his father was considered handsome. Many a woman had tried to befriend him, had flirted with J.T. only in the hopes of meeting his father in a non-professional setting. Before his parents' divorce, J.T. had overheard his mother once complain to a friend that at a party they had attended the night before, another woman had persistently flirted with his father, had even slipped her hand in his pocket. Being only 13 at the time, J.T. hadn't understood why a woman would do such a thing unless it was really cold at the party but it had only been a few years later when that piece of intelligence dawned on him. It made him look at his father in a new way. And then J.T. realized why his mother was often so happy in the morning when their bedroom door had been locked the night before.

But this woman staying in the den was a mystery and J.T. was determined to ask around at the hospital and found out why she was staying in his father's den and why his father had put such a distance between the two of them. But now, he was hungry so he headed to the kitchen for a snack.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

"So I've known Trapper now for years—over 25 years. I was his scrub nurse in the military and also here. He used to call me 'Island Girl' not because of the Elton John song, but because he knew I was from Jamaica. He would sing 'Kingston Market' to me, sometimes even during surgery."

"Kingston Market?"

"An old song made famous by Harry Belafonte years ago. Trapper has a good voice, you know—can even sing a Calypso song—made all of us want to dance around the patient." They both laughed at the image. "Whenever he would sing the lines, 'Do you know a brown skin maiden with sunshine in her eyes? Heard the swallow and the humming bird sing happy as she goes by,' I was sure he loved me and I would giggle like a silly girl. I was so in love with him." Ernie laughed and stabbed at her shrimp salad, hoping to impale a large shrimp along with some lettuce. She felt herself blush remembering how infatuated with him she had been for months—and was shocked that the confession; she had never told anyone how she had felt about Trapper, how much in love with him she had been

"Oh," the woman said quietly. "So you and he have a past together?"

"I was his scrub nurse so we worked closely together…but as for our…it was only once. It was a mistake; we both knew. He was married and I knew he loved her but was lonely so far from home. Besides it would have been too awkward, I mean it was bad enough the next day for us to work together but we managed and now it's in the past-buried. But I suppose I still love him in my way and I think he holds a special place for me in his affections." Ernie sipped her wine; her hand shook slightly. She noticed Irene dropped her eyes and seemed to be considering what Ernie had just confided. Ernie took a deep breath. "I don't know why I'm telling you all this," Ernie said. "Trapper would be angry if he knew I was talking about him; he likes his privacy."

"Yes. I understand. But I don't know him very well so I suppose it doesn't matter, he's just been kind to me."

"That's Trapper—kind, thoughtful…yes, he's a wonderful man." Ernie went back to her salad but kept glancing at the woman across from her as they sat at one of the best tables in the expensive restaurant. Ernie had spitefully chosen it since Trapper was picking up the tab. Ernie could hear Trapper saying when he received the statement, "But Enrico's? You couldn't take her to Burger King?"

Ernie had been analyzing why she was angry with Trapper over this and hated to admit to herself the reason why she had revealed the one night of wild sex with Trapper almost 30 years ago; she was jealous and she wanted this woman to know that Trapper had once loved her, that he kissed her body and murmured in her ear that she was beautiful and desirable. Ernie knew the jealousy of this woman was foolish as she couldn't lose Trapper as he was never hers. And she had never felt jealous of Melanie, that is, once she met her back in the states. And Ernie had met many of the other women in Trapper's life once he was divorced Melanie but there had been something about the way he spoke of this woman he called Irene that seemed unusual. She wasn't just another woman passing through his life; Ernie felt she might very well be The Woman; he cared too much and Ernie couldn't keep the image of Trapper and this woman bound together, their arms wrapped about one another and their legs entangled.

 _"_ _So here's my AMEX. Take her out and buy her some clothes—whatever she needs. Oh, and a flannel nightgown—quite a few. As a matter of fact, if you can find her a sleepsuit with feet in it—buy that. And a terrycloth robe—a long one." Trapper handed his credit card to Ernie._

 _"_ _This is bad time, Trapper. I have nursing reports and time sheets to check before I send them down…can't you get someone else? What about Melanie?" A nurse on the 3_ _rd_ _floor had already spread the juicy story among the nursing staff about Dr. McIntyre and his ex-wife having an argument about the woman and Ernie wanted to see if Trapper would address it. It seemed that the nurse who had been in a patient's room nearby had heard Melanie say that she wasn't going to abet 'him' with his sex life. And the nurses had discussed it at the lunch table. Ernie defended Trapper and chastised them for retelling such an ugly story—they were her nurses and she wouldn't have it-but she wasn't sure that Trapper hadn't taken a lascivious interest in the patient who he said he was now calling Irene Adler after the Sherlock character. Ernie had reminded him that Irene Adler remained the only woman in the fictional Sherlock's life and that in the story, Sherlock kept a picture of her. Was Trapper going to take some Polaroids of the woman and keep them for his private viewing? She had meant it as a joke but Trapper had neither laughed nor responded._

 _Trapper smoothed his hair down with one hand, the other resting on his hip. "I've tried Melanie—not a good idea. Please, Ernie do this for me—for her."_

 _"_ _I don't owe her anything! Don't try to use guilt on me, Doctor! Besides, I still don't think she should be staying with you. If anyone here finds out that you have a woman—a former patient living with you…"_

 _"_ _People do know. I've gone to great lengths to avoid any semblance of impropriety so I've told whomever would need to know; I've informed the police of her whereabouts as well in case they want her. And J.T. is staying at my place so that should put a damper on gossip. Just take her out for a shopping spree. Go to lunch and make a day of it. Buy yourself a little something too. Please? She needs clothes if she's going to get a job."_

 _"_ _A job? Doing what?" Ernie almost replied that perhaps she should take the woman to a sleazy store where she could buy clothes fir for a streetwalker; Ernie was positive that Trapper had a sexual interest in the woman—after all, he was still a lusty and virile man and she still, even after all those years, felt his draw._

 _"_ _I don't know yet but some job will pop up…just buy her some dress clothes and some casual clothes and…I'll get her the phone."_

 _"_ _A phone? Are you adopting her?" Ernie couldn't keep the sarcastic, disapproving tome from her voice._

 _"_ _I've had enough of that from Melanie; I don't need it from you," Trapper snapped. Just earlier Melanie had called and he had silently listened at his desk while she berated him for having the woman stay at his place; she had spoken to J.T. and he had reluctantly told the whole story when he asked her if he could stay with her. Trapper had finally cut her off by telling her that it was none of her business and what did she think was going to happen? That her baby boy was going to be seduced by an older woman? J.T. was a grown man and he needed a place to sleep; did she prefer he throw out J.T.?_

 _"_ _Just do this for her, Ernie. For me. Please. The sooner she has the clothes, the sooner she can get back to her life."_

 _So Ernie reluctantly agreed—but she didn't like it._

"Dessert?" Ernie asked since the woman had placed her fork and knife on the plate indicating she was through. "Anything you want and they have the best crème brulee."

"No, I'm full." The woman put her hands in her lap and looked across the table at Ernie. "I need to ask you something about Dr. McIntyre."

"Okay." Ernie felt her heart step up a little in anticipation of what the woman might ask.

"I feel as if I know him from somewhere—he—when he's around me I feel safe and comfortable. It's as if I remember what it's like to kiss him—the taste of him-and when he's near me and I smell him, I have this memory…it's like when you have a word on the tip of your tongue but it's just out of reach. But maybe I just dreamed it all; I was on meds in the hospital but…I can almost feel what it's like to be with him, to sleep with him and it scares me a bit. Has he mentioned anything to you about me? Has he said that he knows me from somewhere else? Anywhere else?"

The woman looked anxious, hopeful. _Obviously, Ernie thought, this woman thinks Trapper tells me everything_. She battled herself—she decided she didn't like the woman sitting across from her and she also decided that she would ask Trapper if there was a past between him and this woman. Trapper wouldn't lie to her—would just refuse to say anything and that would be an answer as well. Ernie considered if she should tell Trapper about the woman's "memory" but decided not to. Oh she would ask about any past relationship but the information that the woman had sexual feelings about him, well that might be just what Trapper needed to instigate a relationship between the woman and himself. And Ernie would avoid that. Ernie knew by the looks the woman had received from the man at the table next to them and the man who had been sitting by the door who ogled her, that she wasn't wrong in thinking that Trapper had to be attracted to the woman since other men obviously found her so.

"No. Trapper hasn't mentioned anything about a past relationship. I think you're just feeling gratitude and mistaking it for sexual attraction." Ernie realized how ridiculous the answer sounded as the two emotions had little in common.

"Yes," the woman said, putting her napkin on the table and pulling the shoulder bag they had purchased off the chair back. "You're right. I am grateful to him. I need to do something to show him how grateful I am." She saw Ernie's look of fear and laughed. "I'm thinking of fixing dinner for him not meeting him at the door in only those red heels and a smile. Shall we go?"

And Ernie knew the woman was on to her.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Roast chicken. Trapper sniffed the air and it was definitely roast chicken with rosemary. He closed the front door and dropping his briefcase by the front door, walked into the living room. He placed the small plastic bag on the sofa, pulled off his sports jacket and lay it over the back of the couch and then loosened his tie. He picked up the plastic bag again; it held her new phone. He smiled when he saw the dining room. The table had been set for three and he heard stirring in the kitchen. He passed through the dining room and stood in the kitchen door watching the women lift a roasting pan from the oven and place it on the range beside two pots. A cookie sheet with unbaked biscuits sat on the counter and he saw the mixer in its end, the beaters still steaming with whipped potatoes.

"So you can cook too."

The woman was startled but when she saw it was Trapper, she smiled and closed the oven door, placing the pot holders on the counter. "I hope you don't mind—well, I hope you approve. I wanted to thank you so I fixed dinner for you and your son. Ernie said you usually leave the hospital around 6 or 7:00 so I just…Well, I'm glad you're home as I made whipped potatoes and creamed peas and the biscuits are waiting…" She stopped speaking and stood quietly.

"Barefoot and tied to the stove." Trapper chuckled. "The stereotypical 'perfect' wife." The woman said nothing, just smiled gently and Trapper became aware of the package from the phone store in his hand. "Oh, this is for you." He pulled out the cell phone, laying the plastic bag on the kitchen table. "I thought you might need one." He walked to her and handed her the phone. She took it from him and stared at it while he stared at her. She was dressed in a pair of jeans and a sweater but her breasts moved loosely under the knit fabric; she was braless and it intrigued him.

"Thank you, but really, you shouldn't have. It'll probably take me years to pay you back for the clothes from today and now this phone…" She looked up at him, searching his eyes. "You really shouldn't have done all this…"

"It's already loaded with my number, the hospital's, Ernie's and I added some apps you might need." He watched as she explored the instrument, swiping the glass screen with her finger.

"Thank you," she said. "Funny how all this technology—it, I remember. Odd isn't it? I don't know how to repay you."

"That's not necessary. I just want you to be able to apply for jobs and if you don't have a phone number, how can they let you know you have it?"

"Or if I don't. I don't have a social security number or a driver's license or anything else I need for a job. How can I get a job? When I think about all those things I need and that somewhere I have them—if I could just remember, I start to…what if I have a pet and it's starved to death waiting for me? Or children? What if I have children somewhere and they're crying for me, wanting their mother? What if…"

"You don't have any children."

"How can you be so certain?"

"I just am. Don't make yourself crazy worrying about things that may not be—don't worry about any of those things. I've checked the news every day the past two weeks to see if there's anything about a missing person, a woman gone missing and there's been nothing; the police said they'd contact the hospital if any reports came in and so far, nothing. Someone would have reported you missing if others were concerned."

She gave a harsh laugh. "So there's no one who misses me. I don't know if that's a comfort or not, to know I meant nothing to anyone. I suppose I should put all my worries into finding a job. I might be able to work at a 'drive-thru' in a fast food place or mop up in bathrooms at the hospital. I bought a pair of red heels—I could wear those as I toss a mop about. Maybe I'll catch the eye of a rich doctor."

"You'll get a job—and the last thing you want is a relationship with a doctor—ask their wives—or ex-wives. But as for a job, we'll get you a state identification card and I'll find you a position at the hospital—I think I may already have found one-and you don't have to leave here until we can find a place for you to stay." He noticed that her breathing which had stepped up when she talked about not having the mere superficial requirements for just functioning in society that everyone else took for granted, seemed to calm.

"Why are you doing this for me?" she asked.

"Because you need help; I'd do it for anyone."

"Anyone? I thought, that is I had hoped, you were doing it because you feel the way I do? Did Ernie tell you what I said at lunch about my feeling as if I've previously known you?" She moved a step closer. "About the way you smell—as if I'm had my nose buried in your skin before…tasted you…" She slowly inhaled. "I know it, the scent of your flesh, the feel and smell of your mouth, the roughness of your beard on my belly and thighs..."

Trapper felt his voice become thick in his throat as he tried to respond. "No…no, she didn't say anything about that and you shouldn't…I shouldn't…." He felt himself mesmerized by her. She seemed to sway slightly and he remembered the way she had looked as she had stood naked before him in that Las Vegas hotel room, how she had looked as he watched her soap up in the shower. She had also performed for him and he had watched, pleased with her abandon and she sought her own pleasure. All those images and sensations rushed over him, drowning him in desire and lust.

"Have we been together, Doctor? Did you kiss me in the hospital while I was sleeping hoping to wake as in a fairy tale?" She felt herself drawn to him so strongly that despite her better judgment, she moved close to him and placed her hands on the back of his neck, pulling gently; he submitted and she caught his mouth and the familiar taste, the familiar pressure of his lips and then his arms about her, the way his mouth moved on hers, it all hit her with the impact of recognition. They had been together—she felt it, knew it and yet she couldn't place where it had been. But she wanted him just as she knew she had some previous time.

The woman broke away from him and stepped back. Then crossing her arms in front of her and grasping the edge of her sweater, she pulled it over her head and tossed it on the small kitchen table, standing exposed before him. She could tell by his face alone that he was aroused but when he had held her pressed against him, kissed her, she had felt his hardness and now, his breathing was uneven. She hoped he would take her—she didn't even care if it was here on the tabletop or even on the tile floor, so when he stepped closer and cupped both her breasts, she sighed in delight and when he flicked his thumbs across the tight, hard nubs, she cried out in pleasure. Then he bent and took one in his mouth, sucking slightly and she clasped his head against her, her fingers wound in his hair. "Yes," she whispered. "Yes." But then there was the sound of the front door opening and heavily closing and J.T. called out, asking if that was roast chicken he smelled because he was hungry.

Trapper broke away from her and the woman almost sobbed in disappointment. Trapper reached for her sweater and gently tossed it to her while he turned to meet J.T. and block him from yet entering the kitchen.

"Hey, Pop. I'm about starved. Forgot to pack a lunch. Did you cook?"

"No. Irene did. Go wash up; it'll be ready as soon as the biscuits are done."

"Great!" J.T. slipped off his backpack and dropped it by the easy chair in the living room as he headed for the upstairs bathroom.

Trapper stood rooted to the spot. He wanted to go back to the kitchen, to see the woman again and swear it would never happen again. Never. He would promise her that he would never touch her again-but that wasn't what he wanted. He had to get her out of his house or despite himself, they would end up wrapped around each other in bed, or with her bent over the back of the couch with her lace panties about her ankles, open and available to him, or with her splayed wide-legged on the dining room table and him between her round thighs. He felt greater desire than he had felt for any woman since the last time he was with her. And then her words came to him. "Did Ernie tell you…" And Trapper realized now why Ernie had asked him if he had known the woman before. But what had caused her to bring up the past?

"Why are you asking me that?" Trapper was placing flies in his case; he hoped to do some paperwork at home, hoped to keep his mind off the woman.

"Because you, well, she is beautiful. Maybe that's the reason. Beautiful women always get special attention from everyone—special treatment…"

Trapper was suddenly irritated with Ernie. "What brought that up? You're a beautiful woman. Do you think you get special treatment, that you're head of nursing because of your looks or is it more than likely due to your experience and credentials?"

"It's been a long time since you've told me I'm beautiful." Ernie's voice dropped; it put Trapper on alert. "Not since we were together all those years…"

"Ernie, why are you bringing that up after all this time; I'd even forgotten. I need to get home." Trapper slipped off his lab coat and tossed it on his desk. "See that gets to the laundry, would you?" He slipped on his jacket and placed the briefcase under his arm. "I need to stop by the phone store. I'll be a little early for rounds tomorrow and I sent you the nursing budget for the second half of the year. Look it over; I think you can hire a new nurse for pediatric oncology." He started to the door, leaving Ernie still standing by his desk, not comprehending how devastated she was at realizing that Trapper didn't cherish their night together as she had all these years; she had thought of it so many times over the ensuing years when she needed comfort, when her husband was alive and they had had an argument and weren't speaking. The fact the Dr. John Francis Xavier McIntyre who had been married to a stunning woman, thought she was beautiful and had made love to her one night when they were young and frightened and lonely.

"Oh, and I saw that there's an opening for a receptionist in Slaughter's office. I think Miss Adler may fit the bill. I'll talk to her." Then Trapper left and he was surprised that his heart was beating faster at the thought of seeing the woman again. But he also had a sense of unease. Ernie had brought up their night together close to 28 years ago—that one night that the two of them had shared their loneliness by sleeping together. He had always regretted it and had easily pushed it to the back of his mind but one afternoon spent with the woman had caused Ernie to break their unspoken agreement never to mention it again. Trapper didn't know what the connection was, why the woman had triggered Ernie's mentioning of it.

But he understood now.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Dinner would have been awkward—or intimate—Trapper wasn't certain- had it not for J.T.; he carried the conversation, relating to his father the latest case to which he had been assigned. The woman silently ate, glancing at the father and so between bites but not participating in their conversation.

"And Briggs is the best diagnostician I've ever seen, Pop. I swear, he can practically just look at a person, examine their eyes, their mouth, their hands and he can tell what's wrong with them. Why we saw a patient today—she came into emergency and Briggs was called in to confirm, and he could tell just by the color of the whites of her eyes, what the problem probably was."

"Her liver?"

"Yeah," J.T. said, but the whites weren't yellow, at least not yet. Briggs said that he could see the tinge and then there was her skin. He's amazing." J.T. took another helping of whipped potatoes, scrapping to bowl to get all that was left.

"These are really good," he said to the woman, as he poured the last of the gravy over the potatoes. "My mom used to make whipped potatoes all the time only she never ate them because they're fattening—" J.T. realized that the woman barely smiled and went back to her plate. But J.T. also noticed she had barely eaten. But then, he considered, maybe she was watching her weight as his mother always had. He remembered that his mother had said she hadn't tasted ice cream since she had been in college at a sorority mixer. Nevertheless, his father had eaten and told the woman the meal was very good; especially the biscuits and she smiled and rose to clear the table.

"No," Trapper said, gently stopping her hand. "You did all the cooking—J.T. and I will clear and wash."

"You don't have to," she replied, disentangling her hand from his grasp. "I find I don't mind and it's just putting them in the dishwasher and wiping up. I really don't mind. It helps me feel I'm paying my rent in a manner. Tomorrow I thought I'd vacuum and dust and…whatever else needs to be done. And I'll mop the kitchen floor; I spilled a bit of flour."

"Tomorrow?" J.T. said as he scraped the last remains of his dinner from his plate with his fork.

"Don't scrape off the pattern," Trapper said. "And speaking of tomorrow," Trapper said to J.T., "can you take Irene to get a state identity card? Slaughter has an opening for a receptionist at his downtown office.

"What?" she said. This came as a surprise to her but now it was obvious to her; he wanted her out since she had behaved so brazenly. Or he was afraid to have her in his house, afraid of his own feelings.

"I told you I thought I could help you with a job. If I recommend you to Slaughter, he'll hire you. And I will recommend you."

"Thank you," she said quietly. "Now if you'll excuse me…" the woman left the two men and went into the den closing the door behind her. She sat on the edge of the bed and realized she was shaking again and gripped one hand with the other. Trapper wanted her gone—she knew it now for certain-and she didn't blame him. She couldn't believe she had behaved in such a way, pulling off her top, hoping he would take her but she had longed for him, for his touch, in a way she couldn't explain or comprehend. But she knew, after kissing him, after being so close to him, that they had known each other physically, that she lain on her back and felt him moving over her and in her, talking to her, kissing her. Or she was losing her mind—that too was a possibility. And she shuddered with a vague memory of pleasure from him.

"So how long is she going to stay," J.T. asked as he scraped the plates over the garbage can before handing them to his father who rinsed them and loaded them into the dishwasher.

"Why? You tired of her being around?' Trapper felt mean and had to restrain from taking it out on J.T.

"No, not at all. I like having her around—she's easy on the eyes." Trapper glared at J.T.. "I'm just saying the truth. She's beautiful but I also have the feeling that once she goes, I go as well."

"Why's that?"

"I have a feeling that I'm sorta a buffer in a way and when she leaves, you won't need me around."

"A buffer?"

"Yeah. If I weren't here it would be just the two of you and if she'd fixed you a dinner like that, well, you would've broken out a bottle of wine and, well, you know how things would go from there."

"What the hell are you talking about?" But Trapper knew that J.T. was correct, that he had read the situation properly.

"You know. It would be…." J.T. raised his brows in expectation.

Trapper slammed shut the dishwasher door. "Wash and dry those pots and that roasting pan," he said to J.T. "I'm getting a beer and watching the game upstairs. See you in the morning."

"But, Pop, where am I supposed to watch the game? Irene's in the den where the big TV is. Can I watch it upstairs with you?"

Trapper unscrewed the top of the beer bottle and took a drink. "No. I'm going to enjoy a nice relaxing evening. Gonzo is having a few guys over tonight to watch the game. See if they can squeeze you in. There's a six-pack in the garage refrigerator. Buy your way in with it. Night."

Trapper paused slightly in front of the den door and listened; he heard the low sounds of the television and wondered what the woman was watching. He wondered if she had changed into one of the nightgowns Ernie and she had bought. But Ernie had also said—with a glint in her eye, that the night gowns weren't flannel. So taking a deep sigh to release his pent-up tension, he went on upstairs to his bed, beer and basketball game.

It had been two hours since turning-in and Trapper couldn't sleep. The woman and he…what had happened in the kitchen made his realize how weak he really was—at least where she was concerned. He'd ask Regis about telling the woman about his past with her, if he should. She had a right to know. It might even help—might jar her memory even more; she was already beginning to remember some things and if he told her about Las Vegas, told her about their tryst and about her discarded wedding ring, the divorce she had said she wanted, she might remember it all.

But Trapper sighed and tossed on the mattress trying to find a position to induce sleep. He would drop off and then suddenly awaken, thinking he had heard a noise. Once he had stepped out naked into the hall to check and see if J.T. was home but the door to the spare room was open and the room dark. He had stood silently to hear if there was any other noise but all was silent.

He had an early day and had told Ernie and now the grandfather clock downstairs had just chimed two so he started back to his room. Then he stopped; there was a noise, definitely a noise. He listened carefully. Yes-from downstairs. Trapper retrieved his robe and slipped it on, tying it and stealthily going down the stairs barefoot. He kept a loaded gun in a lock-box on the top shelf of his bedroom closet but abandoned the idea. It was more than likely J.T. making himself a snack. Or perhaps it was the woman.

The door to the den was closed. Trapper considered flipping on a living room light but decided not to since the light was on in the kitchen. Trapper walked through the dining room and stood again in the kitchen door and again, it was the woman. She sat at the table, both hands wrapped about a white china mug of what to Trapper, looked like steaming milk.

"I take it you can't sleep."

She was startled but recovered. "No, I can't. Warm milk is supposed to help. I used the last of it—I'm sorry."

"That all right. My housekeeper, Mrs. Eccles, comes tomorrow. She'll see what I need before she goes to the grocery. And that's why you needn't work off any perceived debt. Her job is to mop, clean and dust and a few hundred things I don't even know she does." He stood with his hands in his robe pockets, watching the woman carefully. She wore a pink terrycloth robe; at least Ernie had followed those instructions—no satin or silk. And the robe was long as requested. Trapper took a deep breath.

"I need to apologize for this evening, about what I did in the kitchen—touching you and... It's unforgivable. I've given you a place to stay and now it may seem as if all I wanted was to have you here so that I could..."

"No. Please, it's my fault—I know better or at least should. I know that when a woman stands topless before a man and invites him to take here that….I'm not naïve. I haven't forgotten what men are like." She looked back at her mug of hot milk. She had left the pan on the heat too long and the milk had burned on the bottom. She had put some soap in it and left it to soak but she had wondered if she had ruined what was obviously an expensive pan. Would he be angry or would it be Mrs. Eccles who would be upset? But she had been lost in a reverie as she had stood at the stove heating the milk. The thoughts of him and the feel of his strong hands on her and the sweet taste of his mouth had revived vague memories—just the briefest of recalled sensations came back and she had a fleeting thought that perhaps the two of them had been married; she felt such an affinity with him that it seemed in her bones.

Trapper pulled out one of the chairs at the small table and sat. "We can each blame ourselves all we like but that type of thing, well, it's what I was leery of all along. I shouldn't have brought you here for your sake."

The woman looked at him. "I decided to go to that women's halfway house. If I get the job you mentioned, I can save my money and pay you back for the clothing and…" She pulled her robe about her closer and Trapper began to wonder what she wore underneath it. And then he reprimanded himself. "Will you take me there tomorrow?"

"No."

"What? I suppose I can take the bus but why not? It's what I want."

"If you want to leave, I'll find someplace else for you to stay—someplace safe where I don't have to worry that something's going to happen to you."

"Why should you worry? Is it because you do know me from someplace else, some other time? You do, don't you?" She reached out and grabbed his arm, leaning toward him. "I know you do just as I'm sure I know you…it was…." The woman let go of his arm and put her hands on her skull, trying hard to think, to resolve the puzzling images that had haunted her. "I know your voice and your smell. I know you!" She looked at him again, almost terrified. "Tell me!"

Trapper cleared his throat. "Yes, I know you and I don't. I don't know your name-you wouldn't tell me. It was in Las Vegas…"

"Yes, Las Vegas. I was with….I can't remember but I….it's vague, like a shadow that's waiting to lift. I can remember a name…"

Trapper waited and watched as she stared vaguely into space, trying to remember. And then she broke down into tears.

"I can't remember the name…I can't." She pounded on her head with her fists in frustration. "Oh, God, why can't I remember?"

Trapper pushed back his chair and pulled her up, embracing her while she sobbed. He crooned to her soothingly and pushed her hair back, kissing her lightly. And then she turned her face to him and their lips met and Trapper felt both doomed and liberated.

"Oh, Trapper," she said when she broke the kiss, "did I love you? Did I tell you I loved you? Or did we just enjoy one another? Please, I want to know why I desire you. I may not be able to remember it all but I know, I know." And she put her arms up around his neck and Trapper picked her up and held her next to him while she nestled her head underneath his neck. He carried her through the house and when they came to the den door, she reached down to open it and she and Trapper went inside. And he kicked the door shut behind them.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

The woman stayed at the townhouse and when she received a state ID card under the name Irene Adler, she took the receptionist's job. It was easy enough, the computer programs were simple and she discovered that she seemed to already know how to run many of them—either that or, as Trapper said, she was intuitive and good at seeing the patterns. The bookkeeper and the P.A. were friendly and so was the nurse. Slaughter, himself, delighted in having a lovely woman at his front desk behind the sliding glass window and when his wife would swing by to see her husband, Irene knew not to appear too charming; Mrs. Slaughter had asked her basic questions the first time she saw Irene but seemed now to only have a passing interest in the receptionist who had to wear a less than flattering uniform. But she still looked at Irene with a critical eye.

"Can't thank you enough, Trapper, for recommending Irene," Slaughter said as he ate with Trapper in the hospital cafeteria. Slaughter had performed an outpatient surgery and decided to catch up with Trapper and see if he could find out more information about Irene; the woman had a way of deflecting any probing questions. "She's smart and makes a good showing—beautiful woman—and since I'm a dermatologist it doesn't hurt to have patients think I'm responsible for that skin. I've given her an array of the cosmeceuticals I sell so that she can honestly say she uses them. But she's good with the patients and stays late if I ask. I might ask her to stay late again tonight—so I can take her to dinner and who knows what from there. I won't take her home, of course—my wife has a nose like a bloodhound—and she'd smell sex."

Any other time, Trapper would have chuckled at the image of Joyce Slaughter sniffing the used sheets in the laundry. Slaughter once told him that his wife always sniffed his crotch when he came in late to see, despite his denials, that he hadn't been with another woman. But Trapper resented Slaughter—found himself feeling jealous and told himself he was foolish; jealousy was for high school students and husbands of unfaithful wives. For all he knew, Irene fell on her back and spread her legs for anyone and everyone who had a cock.

He had seen the new products from Slaughter's office lined up in the bath off the den. In the three weeks the woman had been at the townhouse, the bathroom had become hers. Just like all women, Trapper thought, they all believed in "eminent domain."

 _"_ _What are these?" Trapper asked one night, stepping out of the bathroom and holding up a bottle. The woman was lying contentedly on the bed, her arms outstretched over her head. She turned to look at him and rolled over onto her stomach._

 _"_ _Dr. Slaughter gave me those. In case someone asks me what I use, I can say I use his line. They're good products—all natural—at least that's what the labels say, and from what the bookkeeper told me, those products bring in quite a bit of money. And Dr. Slaughter's branching out into 'rejuvenation' procedures—fillers, Botox, things like that. There seems to be quite a bit of a fortune to be made from vanity. Oh, and I met his wife, Joyce. She looks good for her age—at least I think so. Maybe she's only 30 and looks bad for her age."_

 _"_ _Be careful of Slaughter. He's a good doctor but he gets a little handy—from what I've heard. If he grabs your ass, tell me."_

 _The woman giggled. "He hasn't done anything untoward and I've even stayed late on occasion to help him with scheduling."_

 _"_ _Just be careful."_

"So you're just going to have Joyce waiting at home while you take Irene to a hotel—that is if she accepts."

"You don't have to remind me about Joyce but she's visiting New York—shopping spree spending all the money I make. So…while the cat's away…" Slaughter smiled and Trapper stood up holding the edges of his lunch tray.

"Leave Miss Adler alone. Don't take advantage of her; you know about her amnesia." Trapper started to walk away but Slaughter reached out and grabbed his arm.

"Don't be holier-than-thou with me, John. She's staying at your place, right? You expect me to believe that you're not sticking it to her every chance you get? I know she doesn't come in to work smiling and humming every morning just because she's glad to see me."

"My relationship with Irene…" Trapper stopped. He was being hypocritical. Wasn't he fucking her every chance he had, especially now that J.T. had moved on to his house sitting job? Hadn't she, just last night, dropped to her knees to please him and hadn't he been thrilled? Wasn't every moment with her one of "earthly delights," of carnality and pleasure? But, he considered, she wasn't afraid that he would toss her out on her shapely ass; she did what she did because she cared for him. Didn't she? He wasn't so sure. This evening he would find out. "My relationship with Irene is none of your goddamn business."

Slaughter released Trapper's arm and shook his head as he went back to his lunch. He had hit a nerve as far as Trapper was concerned but he also knew that he would be wise to heed Trapper's warning—not that Trapper would set out to ruin him or anything like that, but Trapper might let Miss Adler know about Slaughter's lust for her. But then, Slaughter considered, that might work in his favor, save him some time in seducing her. He'd wait and see.

~ 0 ~

"Irene?" Trapper called out as he entered the townhouse. Silence met his greeting. He dropped his briefcase by the door. There was no odor from the kitchen but then the woman didn't cook every night—nor did he ask her to or expect her to do so. Mrs. Eccles, the housekeeper, still left him a prepared casserole waiting to be baked on her days but the woman often put them in the oven when she came home so they would be ready for him unless he called and said he would be late. That always reminded him of being married only the woman didn't slam the phone down in his ear or freeze him out when he finally and wearily came home.

Trapper stepped into the den—the door partially was open—but the woman wasn't there. He went into the kitchen but it was empty. His heart stepped up; she had left. But then then den had been the same—nothing missing, nothing changed, the couch still pulled out into the bed. Trapper took to the stairs, calling out her name. Perhaps she was waiting for him upstairs—in his bed, warming herself up for him. But she wasn't upstairs. Slaughter had said that he was going to ask her to stay late but the office closed at 4:30, the phones switching over to the answering service so there was no point in calling. He pulled out his cell phone and hit her contact but the phone just rang through to voice messaging. She must be enjoying her dinner with her boss, Trapper thought, or perhaps she was in his condominium enjoying his sexual attentions.

Trapper sighed in resignation; after all, she was an adult and could do as she wished. He loosened his tie and shrugged off his sport coat. Ordinarily he would hang it up immediately but now he just tossed it on the bed that hadn't been slept in for days—Mrs. Eccles must have noticed that his sheets hadn't needed changing, that the bed hadn't been disturbed for days.

Despite his not being hungry, Trapper went down to the kitchen. He'd see what Mrs. Eccles had left and have a nice glass of wine. And he'd wait for the woman to come home. There was nothing he could do, at least not yet. And the situation reminded him of when he would worriedly wait for his children to come in at night. Since he had Kimmie and J.T. every weekend he could manage after the divorce, the weekends were the nights Kimmie went out on dates once she turned 15 and Trapper would sit up waiting. He wished he had a shotgun so he could sit in a rocking chair on the front porch waiting for the bastard who had whisked off his daughter. And then when J.T. started going out, he would wait up to make sure the boy was home on time and that he had remained sober and straight.

He poured himself a glass of rosé before he looked in the refrigerator. There was a Corning ware casserole dish—chicken, vegetables and quinoa, the note said-"350 degrees for 45 minutes." He left it. There was a sound in the back of the house and Trapper opened the kitchen door; the woman sat on one of the deck chairs looking out at the sunset.

"Irene?" Trapper said softly. She turned and it was obvious she was upset. "What's wrong? Did something happen at work today?" She nodded. Trapper sat on the companion chair, but instead of reclining, he sat on the side, facing her. "Is it Slaughter? Did he do something to you?" Trapper was prepared to tell her that if she wanted to quit, he'd help her find another job; she didn't have to worry about money or a place to live. And as he was driving home from the hospital, he had even wondered if she would marry him. He could ask, he considered. It did no harm to ask.

"No," she said quietly, "it's not Dr. Slaughter. A man came to the office this afternoon; he didn't have an appointment. He said that he had seen me at a restaurant a few weeks ago; it was the one that Ernie took me to—Enrico's. He asked me about the flash drive, wanted to know where it was—if I still had it. I didn't know what to say. I said I didn't know what he was talking about or who he was. He told me not to play dumb—and said that I knew what he was capable of doing."

"Do you know who he was?" Trapper could see how delicate the situation and that the woman was close to falling apart.

She shook her head, no. "But he called me Ava." The woman turned her eyes on him and she looked terrified. "My name is Ava—Ava Calder. I know that's my name. I remembered it after he called me Ava. Ava Marie Calder and my parents are George and Beverly Calder. I remember all that now. I remember growing up and my best friend was Jane Grower. She and I became best friends in elementary school and she died when we were juniors in high school—she was on a date and they were hit by another driver and she died. I graduated from Prince George High School in Virginia—I still remember the ceremony and my parents taking me to dinner at a fancy restaurant and my boyfriend—Tom Maust and I drove all night to Myrtle Beach. I lost my virtue on the beach the next night—and had sand in every orifice of my body."

"Ava," Trapper said almost in a whisper.

"I know I went to college but…I don't remember much of anything else—at least not completely. It's as if they're shadows, all these people who are in my memory. I looked for myself on the computer—Ava Marie Calder-but nothing came up."

"Ava. Did you recognize the man?"

"No, but he scared me. His smile—what he said. He also said that my face had healed up nicely. He knows." Tears began to trail down her cheeks.

Trapper put his wineglass on the deck and pulled her up and into his arms, stroking her hair and in the show of tenderness, she began to sob. All the fear she had dealt with the whole day could now be given to him; Trapper would take care of her—she relaxed in that thought. Yes, he would see that she was safe. He would take care of everything and she knew she didn't have to face this alone.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

"Let me see if I understand this," Trapper said, "unless the man threatens her, there's nothing you can do. Is that what you're telling me?" Trapper listened to the voice on the other end of the phone. He had called detective, Lt. Anders who had left his card with Ava after visiting her while she was in the hospital. Trapper had earlier handed the phone to Ava and Anders had spoken with her-she gave him her maiden name, said that she had remembered it after the man addressed her as "Ava,"-she told him about the incident at Dr. Slaughter's office. She was unable to answer most of the lieutenant's questions and couldn't tell him the man's name or why he wanted the flash drive. Nor could she say for certain that what he said had been a threat although she had interpreted it as such. And as for the flash drive, it may have been the man's property, she didn't know and didn't know how she came to have it but the man now knew she had it and "suggested" Ava bring it to work with her the next day.

"All right," Trapper said as his posture signaled to Ava that the phone conversation was ending. "Yes, I understand. Yes…yes. Goodbye." Trapper hung up the phone and turned to Ava who sat silently. "I guess you know what he said."

"Yes. I have to wait until I'm threatened me outright. Then the police can do something about it—that is if I can give them his name."

"Come here," Trapper said, standing up and opening his arms. Ava rushed into them and Trapper folded her into his embrace. His mind was racing, thinking about what they were going to do next. And he wondered how he had ever become so entrenched in such a situation. Oh, yes, he remembered. Lust and desire and the need for a woman. And Ava's fantastic ass. He rested his cheek on the top of her head and there was no disentangling himself now; of that he was certain. "Let's eat something and then head for bed—an early night would do us good."

~ 0 ~

It was past midnight—the grandfather clock had toned 12 times a while ago, and that night Trapper had decided they would sleep in his bedroom upstairs. Their earlier lovemaking had been tender and gentle—he was amazed at the variety of their sexual activity according to the mood or situation. Some nights they were passionate and rough with Trapper pulling her up on her hands and knees to take her and other nights, they were tender lovers and slowly found their pleasure in each other's embrace, almost whispering of their desire but what amazed him the most was that Ava was eager for him every night. Initially he considered that she was so receptive because she needed him and was afraid he would turn her out if she refused him and it was her way of ensuring he would keep her around. But then he realized that wasn't it—she actually cared for him and best of all, she enjoyed him now the same way she had a year ago. But tonight he was worried and his thoughts ran in circles always coming to the same conclusion—things couldn't continue this way.

Ava slept with her head on Trapper's chest, his arm about her but he was awake. He had taken the gun from the top of the closet, checked the cartridge and slammed it back in, then hefted the gun. It had been awhile since he had bought it and fired it, finding that his military training had served him well; he could still hit a target. But he wanted the gun in easy reach so it was now in the drawer of the nightstand. He had set the security alarm but still, he found his nerves on edge.

They—although he had no idea who "they" were, could be watching the house and perhaps waiting to break in. He felt a chill when he thought that the man who had visited Ava at Slaughter's office must have followed them from the house to where Trapper let her out to walk the block to her job from early on and had bided his time before approaching her. Had they been watching the house every day—more than likely following Ernie back to the townhouse that day of her and Ava's luncheon? Had someone watched Ava as she walked from the bus stop to the house when Trapper hadn't been able to pick her up? His took in a deep breath. They could have snatched her off the streets, taken her away from him and she might never have been found. Why they hadn't done so already…of course-they wanted the flash drive.

Ava would quit her job, Trapper decided, not go in tomorrow. He was sure Ava would protest, would say that she didn't want to quit and wouldn't, but Trapper's fear for her was so great that he couldn't allow her to continue. And he would take her someplace else, he decided. Then he rejected the idea; they would only follow. Trapper considered all the alternatives. He was glad he had made a copy of the flash drive and it was in his desk at work. Perhaps Ava should just give the man the flash drive if he came again to the office. Then it would be over. Maybe. Maybe not.

If the flash drive was, as he thought, a record of illegal financial transactions, then the man or men, wouldn't trust that the drive they received was the only one; copies were simple to make. There was no way Trapper could think of to get Ava safely out of the situation. It seemed that as long as she had the drive, she was safe-at least for the time being.

An idea came to him. Tomorrow he would pack up anything that if stolen, would be devastating. These would be, he considered, mainly documents and a few pieces inherited from his grandparents that were irreplaceable. Everything else, even the Oriental antiques would stay. Ava would go to work as usual. The man would again show at the office and Ava would hand him the flash drive. The man would wonder if there were other copies—a logical conclusion-and would then break into the townhouse looking for any. And he should find one—or two. Trapper decided he would make two more copies in the morning and hide them. If things went as he thought they might, the man would have two copies and the original and then may just then leave Ava alone. He could only hope. And if the man was satisfied with the one copy and not search the house, so much the better.

Finally satisfied with his plan, that it was logical and safe, he managed to drift off into a light sleep until the alarm went off and he found Ava gone from his bed. His hrart raced in panic and he threw on his robe and headed down the stairs.

Ava was in the kitchen making coffee and it took a few minutes for Trapper's pulse to slow down to normal. She looked at him as he came in, barefoot and his hair disheveled. He smoothed it down, running both hands through his hair.

"You look as if you thought I'd left." She flipped the switch and the coffeemaker began to heat up with a slight sound.

"I was afraid you had."

~ 0 ~

"I hope whoever he is, he'll be satisfied," Ava said as she sat on the bed in the den watching Trapper at the computer making another copy of the flash drive. She was dressed for work as was Trapper and she was anxious but ready to leave for her job. The prospect of seeing the man again made her reconsider but she was determined not to let Trapper know how upset she was; he had done enough and didn't need to nursemaid her through the situation..

"Here," Trapper said, handing her the second copy. "Hide this one somewhere in here. Hide it in the bathroom." Ava did as he asked, secreting it under some of the stacked washcloths. She had already hidden one copy in the front room, placing it behind some books in the bookcase and she was nervous about the whole thing.

"I don't think it's a good idea, Trapper." She said coming from the bathroom. "I mean to almost invite whoever they are to break into your house like that. I just…"

"Ava, listen to me. They have to believe they have all the copies and that you can't give them anything else. They must know about your amnesia by now. I can't believe they haven't checked out everything as they must know I'm a surgeon and where I work and that I may have helped you regain your memory by now. If so, then it only makes sense that copies of the flash drive were probably made."

"How could they know all that?"

"Just plug the address in the property appraiser's web site and there it is—who I am. I have a pretty big footprint on the web due to the hospital and my affiliations."

"Oh. I suppose then that…"

There was a knock at the door. Trapper rose to go answer and Ava grabbed his arm.

"What if it's that man?"

"Then I'll meet him. I hope it is him but if it makes you feel better,look through the peephole and tell me if it is."

Ava raised herself on her tip-toes and peered through the peephole in the door. "No…it's not him but…Trapper, the man. There's something…I…"

"What? What is it, Ava?" Trapper gently pulled her away.

"I don't know…but he…"

"Are you afraid of him?"

"No. No, I'm not afraid." Ava stepped back and Trapper, not certain about how to take her reaction, pulled her behind him before he opened the door. A well-dressed man stood on the front step. He was a handsome man, Trapper concluded, but looked as if he hadn't slept in days. Trapper hoped he didn't look as haggard and hollow-eyed as the man who faced him.

"Yes?" Trapper held the door open but blocked the man's view inside.

"Hello. This may sound strange but, I'm Frank Blessing…is my wife here? Ava Blessing? I was told she's here. Is she all right? I heard she had been in the hospital—San Francisco Memorial-and when I went there, they told me…"

Ava stepped out from behind Trapper. "You….you say I'm your wife?"

"Ava!" The man tried to push his way past Trapper but he stopped the man.

"She's my wife," he pleaded with Trapper. "Please. I've been so worried."

Trapper looked at Ava who was staring at the man and he stepped aside, watching while the man pulled Ava into his arms, almost weeping and saying how glad he was to have found her. He had been so worried. Then he held her face in his hands, tears in his eyes and said that he thanked God that he finally found her—he had wondered what had happened when he went to her place and she wasn't there. HhHe told her to pack; he was taking her home.

"Now just a minute," Trapper said, holding onto Ava's arm and pulling her away from the man. "I don't know who you are—just who you say you are-and it's obvious Ava doesn't remember you. It's taken you long enough to find her and I can't see any loving husband waiting this long." Trapper realized his hands formed fists and he was prepared to defend Ava if need be. Actually, he wanted to, wanted to strike this man down just on principle.

The man looked at Ava, his eyes sad. "Yes, I know how it looks. I was out of town on business—Las Vegs, and when I returned she was gone. I thought she had gone to visit a friend—she often did. Ava has a friend in Denver. Marilyn. You remember her, don't you? She's a friend from college, a sorority sister. I tried to call you, texted you, but you didn't answer. I thought you were still mad about the argument and finally called Marilyn because I was getting worried. And then she told me you hadn't been there at all. I thought I'd lose my mind with worry but I've finally found you and you're well and safe. I'll have to call Marilyn and let her know you're all right. She'll be relieved."

"I don't know any Marilyn…wait." Ava walked slowly, almost as if she was sleepwalking, into the living room and sat on the couch. Trapper watched her face; she was struggling with something.

Trapper sat on the coffee table, facing Ava while the man followed them in and stood by the couch.

"Ava, look," he said. He pulled out his wallet and took a picture from one of the pockets and sat beside her. It was a photograph of Ava and the man holding hands; they were obviously bride and groom. "See. You're my wife. Trust me, Ava. I just want to take you home and take care of you, help you get your memory back."

Ava looked to Trapper and then back to Frank. "I don't…" She looked at the picture again. "I remember a little but…" She looked back to Trapper who watched the man suspiciously. "What should I do?"

"Why are you asking him? I'm your husband. You should come with me." There was a tinge of desperation in his voice and the man looked afraid. "Pack up your things-everything. Don't leave anything here. Please, Ava. Please."

Trapper decided to take a chance; he hadn't counted on Ava's husband—or ex-husband showing up but he had an idea why the man was here; Frank Blessing may care for Ava but at the moment, he was terrified for his own life.

"What if she gives you the flash drive? Is that what you want?"

Ava looked from Trapper to Frank and back. "The flash drive?"

"Well," Frank said, "I do need it. It has all my…one of my clients. It's his record of financial…." His voice died. "I need it. I need to turn it over to…my client. It's important. Ava, if you ever felt anything for me…"

"If we give it to you," Trapper said, "will you agree to let Ava stay—at least until her memory returns and she can make these decisions for herself, what she wants to do?"

Trapper planned to do a public records search after Frank left now that he knew that Ava's married name would have been Blessing. But he was betting that Ava and Frank were divorced and that Frank was counting on Ava's memory loss to convince her to leave with him—Ava and all her belongings which Trapper was certain was most importantly the flash drive. He wondered if Frank loved Ava, not being able to understand how he couldn't, but then Trapper had to admit, if they were divorced and Frank was in fear for his life, Ava would be secondary. Besides, Trapper thought, once the flash drives were either destroyed or handed over to the proper person, Ava might very well be left unscathed. But he wouldn't take the chance.

Frank hesitated. "Well, I was told to…" He stopped. Frank noticed that Trapper had caught on to his accidental confession.

Trapper stood up and Frank did as well. The men faced each other. "Ava's not going with you. I can assure you of that. But if the flash drive is important to you and whoever told you to get it back, you can have it. But not her. Am I clear?" Trapper moved toward Frank who backed up a step.

"Yes. I understand."

"Good." He turned to Ava and in a kinder tone that he had used with Frank, he asked her to get the flash drive…and the copies. He noticed Frank relaxing and releasing his breath.

Frank watched Ava as she went about pulling out the books to retrieve the hidden drive and then she went into the den to get the other two. She handed them to Frank and he thanked her.

"Ava, would you leave us alone? I need to ask Frank a few things."

"Why can't I hear? If they concern me, I should know."

"Please, Ava."

She looked at the two men and then nodded to Trapper and left the room going into the den and closing the door.

"Don't come back again," Trapper said to Frank, "or I'll have you arrested for trespassing—or shoot you-understand? And stay away from Ava."

"I understand what you're saying, but Ava, I loved her a great deal and I still do. I want her to be safe but unless…" Frank looked down at the three drives he held. "I hope these are all of them. The men I work for, their business…they're dangerous." He looked at Trapper again. "You may think she's safe here but she's not. She's not really safe anywhere. She helped me hide this, slipped it in her clothing, in her bra but they didn't believe she knew nothing about it like she said. They took her off in one car and took me in another. I've been in a room in some shit-hole cabin in the outskirts somewhere being forced to falsify more financial records for submission to the IRS. I'm in so deep that I'm just trying not to drown but I'll never get out.

"They'll come for Ava, you know. They must have scared her so much that she jumped out of a moving car. I read about it later—online. I came across it once I was brought back from the mountains. She's not safe and I'll have to return without her which means I'm not either. I don't know what'll happen to me but I do know what'll happen to her. They can't take the chance she'll regain her memory."

"Tell me—are you two still married?"

"No. Well—we're in the process; she filed about a year ago. So technically, I guess we are. I signed some forms about two months ago but I went to her for help in this mess and it did nothing but put her in jeopardy. But they would have come after her anyway since she and I were married the whole time I did their books. Why?"

"I needed to know."

Frank smiled wryly. "She's quite the woman, isn't she?"

"Yes, she is and I'll take what you said seriously. I'll heed your warning."

Frank nodded and said he had to go and told Trapper to watch over Ava. Then he left and Trapper watched through the front window. Frank got into the back seat of a car beside another man who sat waiting; two others were in the front seat. And he was glad that had kept Ava with him. But now he had to see she was kept safe and he wondered what to do.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Usually Trapper drove Ava to work, pulling into the hospital parking lot and Ava walked the block to Dr. Slaughter's office; the area was known as "Doctor's Row" due the many offices of specialists who had privileges at San Francisco Memorial. Trapper never particularly cared for the routine but Ava said she wanted to walk, needed to be outside in order to clear her head for the day of sitting inside. If Slaughter's office didn't have a large window and live plants, Ava said that she didn't think she could bear working there. But today Trapper drove her to the front door. There was no curbside parking available on the busy street so he held up traffic and over the honking of car horns behind him, Trapper told Ava to stray inside and to call him if anyone suspicious came in. As long as she stayed inside, she was safe, he felt.

Once he reached his own office, having brusquely put off Gonzo who wanted to speak to him and Ernie who had a list of complaints from the surgical nurses, he called Lt. Anders. While he waited for the lieutenant, he opened his desk drawer and pulled out the flash drive.

"Lieutenant Anders, this is John McIntyre. There's been an incident and we've found Ava's name, her married name is Ava Blessing, at least that's what we've been told. Her husband is Frank Blessing and it looks….oh, you know him."

Trapper listened, the flash drive in his fist. It seemed that IRS agents were investigating the financial records of a group of "legitimate" businessmen who worked out of Las Vegas; he wouldn't identify the men. Frank Blessing was their accountant and the financial records had been kept somewhere that their agents hadn't been able to discover; they had checked all the laptops and computers in the business offices and Blessing's small apartment in Oakland and had only found a few things. The flash drive may very well be what they needed.

The lieutenant told Trapper to keep the flash drive safe and to expect a visit by a Federal Marshal. Anders strongly suggested that Trapper examine the marshal's identification closely before handing over the flash drive. "And were I you, doctor, I wouldn't make any copies. You might be putting both yourself and Mrs. Blessing in danger."

Trapper looked at the flash drive; it had been left in the desk and as far as he knew, no one but the cleaning staff had entered in his absence. He plugged the drive into his computer and heaved a sigh of relief; it still contained all the information of the original. He shrugged on one of the starched, laundered lab coats in his office closet, slipped the drive into the chest pocket and pinned on his ID badge. Then he went out for rounds.

At lunch, Trapper called Ava. She assured him that no one had tried to get into the locked office. And, she added, at hearing the worry in his voice, she wasn't going out for lunch but would have a meal of Lance crackers from the snack machine in the upstairs hallway and a Diet Coke. Slaughter and his nurse would be in at 1:00 for his afternoon appointments; Slaughter performed surgery Wednesday mornings and the only thing she had done was make appointments. Yet Trapper was still anxious; maybe one of the callers had been the man calling to see if she was there today. Trapper tried to convince himself that he was unnecessarily worrying about things that wouldn't happen but he couldn't shake the cloud of worry. Around 2:00 in the afternoon, he was paged to his office and when he reached it, a stern man in a black suit was waiting outside.

"Dr. John McIntyre?"

Trapper considered being snide and saying that his badge identified him as such but chose not to. Instead, he asked the man to identify himself, so still standing in the hall outside the door, Trapper examined the man's identification. He didn't really know what he was looking for but he took his time so it seemed he did.

"Marshal O'Malley, come on in?"

~ 0 ~

Trapper paced on the sidewalk outside Slaughter's office waiting for Ava. Since the office was on the 1st floor, Trapper was assured of her safety by seeing her through the office window and she had waved to him. He wondered if anyone else had watched her over the past weeks, if "they" had been keeping track of her whereabouts this way. But hopefully, all that was over. It was what else he found out in his search following his conversation with the marshal that made him eager to speak to her and afraid to at the same time.

Trapper knew he was going to lose Ava and he wanted to put it off as long as he could.

Finally Ava came out smiling. He took her hands and lightly kissed them.

"Safe and sound," she said.

Trapper put his arm about her and walked her to his car parked behind the building. "How about dinner? A celebration of sorts."

"Celebrating what?" Ava was curious. There was something about the set of his jaw, the forced smile and the look in his eyes that caused her worry.

He helped her in and after getting in the driver's side, he started the car and pulled out. He had yet to answer her question but that was because, despite planning what he was going to say, he didn't want to say it.

"Trapper, what are we celebrating?"

"I gave the last flash drive to a federal marshal. I don't think, from what he told me, that anyone will be bothering you anymore; they'll be too busy with their lawyers."

"That is worth celebrating, I suppose, but we could just go back to your place and celebrate." She reached over and touched his cheek and when he looked at her, she was taken aback by the sadness in his eyes. "What is it? There's more than just that, isn't there? Is it Frank? What about Frank?"

"I told you this morning what Frank said about the two of you, that he had no idea of the status of your marriage really, just that you had filed and the process was ongoing and he had signed some papers shoved at him by his lawyer. But I looked you up—and him. Here?" Trappe reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out a folded slip of paper, giving it to Ava.

She unfolded it and saw a set of numbers—3 numbers, a hyphen, two numbers, a hyphen and then 4 numbers and below it a street address. "This is…."

"Your social security number. The federal marshal gave it to me since I'm a doctor and the hospital might need it for financial records and…also in the hopes the knowledge of who you are will bring back your memory. The address, well, it seems you own a condo in San Mateo—free and clear. Seems it was part of the divorce decree."

"The divorce is final then?"

"As soon as you sign the final papers. So it looks as if you have a place to live. And you also are an artist—you work in watercolors, paint landscapes, flora, fauna….beach scenes. You have some paintings in galleries. Seems you have a full and interesting life, Ava. You also have a nice bank account."

Ava was stunned. Her life had just been discovered and yet she didn't remember these things. Ava Blessing was a complete stranger to her.

"I don't know that Ava. The only Ava I know is the one in relation to you, the Ava who sleeps with you at night and laughs with you and talks to you. That's the Ava I know, not this artist, this financially secure woman who lives in a condo in San Mateo. I don't even know I want to be her again."

"Ava, you have no choice. And neither do I. This identity, this Ava who works as a receptionist and cooks my dinner and spreads her legs for me, that's not the woman you really are."

"I like being her. I do, Trapper, I do. Don't you believe me?"

"Ava," Trapper said, reaching for her hand. She was softly crying. "Listen to me. You need to go back to your life, find it and live it."

"Trapper, I…"

"Just listen. If, after a while you want to include me in your life, well, call me and I swear I'll rush to you. And if Ava Blessing is as wonderful as all the things I read about her on LinkedIn and art journals, well, it'll still be you but a you who's making a choice about her life—not "Irene Adler" who was afraid and desperate and needed me so badly. So tomorrow morning, we'll go to San Mateo. Okay? You don't have to be afraid anymore, Ava, afraid of anything."

"Yes, I suppose…but then why am I so afraid now? Tell me that, Trapper. Why am I so afraid that once you leave me in San Mateo, I'll never see you again? You fell in love with "Irene Adler", the woman you spent the past few weeks with, the one you kissed and made love to. You don't love Ava Blessing—you don't even know her…and neither do I. I want to stay who I am with you."

Trapper pulled the car up to the loop for valet parking at Enrico's and the valet opened Ava's door. She glanced at Trapper, quickly wiping away her tears. Trapper waited and the valet stood patiently by, holding open the car door.

"Please, Trapper. Take me home. And not to San Mateo. Don't make me start my life as Ava Blessing until tomorrow. Take me home and treat me like you did Irene Adler."

Trapper stepped out of the car and called across the car to the valet. "Close the door; we're not staying. Here." Trapper pulled out his wallet, chose a five dollar bill and reached across the top of the car. The valet took it, smiled and closed the car door.

And Trapper drove "Irene Adler" home to his place. Tomorrow morning he would kiss and make love to Ava Blessing, the sophisticated artist, but tonight he and "Irene" would tussle in the sheets and enjoy each other. One more night of bliss and then well, what happened next would be up to Ava.

~ Finis ~


End file.
